27
27 Hanan
HananHananA morning, just like any other since she arrived here in the States, up at six, dressed and breakfast eaten by seven. Out the door and waiting for the MARTA by 7:15. On the train bound for Unity, she takes a seat by the window, and watches the world wiz by. The plastic bucket seat holds her nicely, comfortably. She rests her head on the warming glass of the window for just a moment, before feeling a tap on her shoulder, gentle but firm.
“Excuse me ma’am,” she hears the young masculine voice say to her. “Can I ask you a question?”
Hanan turns, a bit startled, but still calm, to see a young face, white skin, blue eyes, short light brown hair. A face no older than her own, and no younger than twenty she decides. She smiles shyly and says, “Yes, how can I help you?”
