A chill settles over Jamaica Plains as the F Train winds
its way to The Village.
“New Haven. Miss?” sang the conductor.
Persephone sits quietly with an old bag between her knees.
Surely, Hades will ignore the weather and see her; but she has
Her stomach grumbles as she examines the other passengers.
They look like Fellini characters with Hitchcock touches.
The E screams to a stop.
“Penn Station. Miss?” sang the conductor.
Persephone quickly rises and says her good-byes.
(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved
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