She seats quietly in the corner.
Sandwiched between glass and stranger.
Lost in foggy thoughts.
Perfectly neat bob peeping out of a pink bowler hat surrounded by a black velvet ribbon. That ribbon, soft in its blackness.
She's covered in quality cloth apart for her face and hands.
Both have been touched by fire.
Like a plastic mask, skin stretches taut，without creases. Cemented expression on alabaster surface. Artificial light making her appear sickly in lemon peach freshness.
She looks down, shielded by technology.
Her small frame belies advanced age at first glance. Doll like, in a modern tartan wrap as she delicately exists in this mechanical jerking carriage.
She keeps looking down intensely on a pad, skimming periodically with a molded fist covered with unseen words and meanings. Lightly they lie on her knees.
Small feet poised on tip top like a resting ballerina, while she angles the pad screen just so.
Unnoticed she sits. Almost frozen in time. Every so often her face relaxes. Giving a constantly alert expression a softer smudge.
Her stop finally arrives and just as quietly she vanishes from sight.
A lingering sweet fragrance in a crowded cage, her only reminder.
Video taken by Amina Bawamia
Image captured & edited by Hadinet Tekie