Fifty Nine

Nobody on the crowded train wanted to sit next to Barbara the wombat. Everyone thought about it, independently, but decided against. “For the best,” they thought, not understanding why. People packed in. Women’s bunions pushed against their pointed shoes, pulling the leather taut like tiny painful boobs. Men tried reading standing up, but only stepped on women’s bunions. No one understood the reek of Barbara’s ennui as they quietly stared, inching away.