The Rail to Sacile
As the clacking train slows to a stop, the grating door of the fourth car opens to reveal the tightly packed innards where people of all colors sit in coveted seats or else stand in the thin passage so those disembarking are forced to brusquely push through. At the sound of the steel door, the woman flicks open her eyes, fluttering her lids, then darting her irises this way and that before settling them on me.