The walk to the subway was very loud this morning. The city must have given up on plowing before the snow gave up on falling because there was an inch of packed snow on the bicycle path. Walking was a little uneasy, with every step causing the snow to move the slightest bit. Each footfall sounded like a balloon animal being made underwater; a combination of squeakiness and slushing.

A young woman passed me on the left as we crossed Buena Vista and I watched her trudge ahead of me. I tried to isolate the sounds of my footsteps from the sounds of hers. In her left hand, she was carrying a see-through garment bag folded in thirds. Over her right shoulder hung a small duffel bag--she was probably going away for the weekend. About fifty yards from the subway station she adjusted her grip so that she was holding on to the hanger rather than the garment bag, and allowed the bag to fall open. Her dress had come off the hanger and was now in a pile at the bottom of the bag. She folded the bag in half, precariously, and walked the rest of the way to the station.

We could hear the train approaching as we got to the station. Running down the stairs didn't help, since the conductor was already closing the second set of doors when we got to the bottom of the staircase. She and I walked to the end of the platform and I was annoyed when she took up most of the bench with her bags. I sat at the other end and watched her lay out the bag containing her dress and, without opening it, work with the dress until it was laid out flat with one spaghetti strap over each side of the plastic hanger. She then folded the bag back into thirds, and we both waited for the next train to arrive.