The train gushes into the Pentagon metro, continuing her spiel with the track.
Kindle-lovers, ipod-listeners, pierced-human-cushions, Coach-freaks, fashionistas, runners and the writer barge in with practiced indifference.
She rambles away to L'enfant Plaza. Stops to spew her insides.
Hustlers burst out of the retractable door frame. Scamper away without looking back.
Nonchalantly she zips herself and moves on.
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