The young woman next to me on the Uptown local is writing in a spiral notebook, which she has propped against her knee. Her backpack, flap open, is on the seat next to her. She's an Ivory- girl, fresh-faced and oblivious and I have no patience for folks like her who set up camp on the train, arranging their various belongings on the seat while people stand or sit hunched and crowded on either side of them. So when I feel her shift in the seat and her bag thrusts against me, I prepare to give her a look.

Apparently sensing that she bumped me, she pulls her bag closer to her and a second later, looks up and SMILES at me, except it's too late: my brows have drawn together and a frown has formed on my lips. Her smile, a really sweet, genuine smile, segues into an expression of genuine bewilderment when our eyes meet and she sees the look on my face. But she doesn't frown back. There's no edge to her, no hostility, she simply looks away, but I can see the thought, "What's her problem?" floating in a cartoon bubble above her head.

After a few seconds pass, I steal a peek at her notebook. At the top of the ruled page she has written in capital letters: WHERE DOES THE MONEY GO? And I realize I made a big mistake. Now I want to hug her. Now I want her forgiveness. I want to tell her, "I didn't mean it. That look I just gave you, it was involuntary, you know? Like a twitch. Being annoyed is my default response. I didn't expect you to be a NICE person. It never crossed my mind that we'd have something in common! I'm struggling too!" But her judgment is sealed. I can't redeem myself in her eyes. And when she senses me peering over at her notebook, she shifts away and shields the page with her hand.