Santa Maria gave life to three turtles while sitting next to me. Strange things. I thought them dead, the way she had them in that plastic box - they had no heads, small and hard shells as big as two thumbs put together, rolling around and around the bare plastic bottom. And that smell. It wasn't strong, but if you listened to the air vents it hit you. Or rather, slapped at you. Like a soft and stale banana.

Yet, in true marketing fashion, she gave them life. A poland spring. Half a bottle into the box and their heads were out. Their hands and feet followed. They moved over each other, they were flapping around like puppies, they couldn't contain themselves. Slowly.

I was grinning. I knew I was but felt no need to stop it. Why stop? I kept my eyes on the turtles, I left my smile where it was.

Still, Santa Maria got up. She got up and moved towards the door. A stop came up but she didn't exit. She simply stood there. No one took her place.

I looked around. Strange things. She was the second person to sit down next to me and instantly rise. Was it because I was writing? People do not like to see a person with a notebook open, I have observed. It makes them nervous. A camera with its lens open, OK. A notebook? Ah-ah. A notebook could be anything, a humble atom one minute, but any second, any second, a mere pin could split it wide open and then - who knows?

Strange things. I smiled at Santa Maria's Reeboks. The train stopped. Lights blended in the outside fog and it felt like we were swimming. Everybody listened to a fire truck drag its sirens below the tracks. Over Santa Maria's soft arm, I saw the turtles gather by the back side of their tank. They were on top of each other and were looking. It seemed they were trying to take down as much as they could.