She sat on a press and tile floor, Indian style, with the soles of her bare feet dusty from the filth of the floor. She used her old metro card to pick the scabs of the wounds left by those who abandoned her and slashed her self esteem with selfishness. Suicidal thoughts swarmed her mind and hovered over her daily like vultures waiting for it’s next meal to draw it’s last breath. She avoided mirrors, unable to hide from their brutal honesty. To call her pathetic would have been a compliment too great for her to accept and believe. Misery encapsulated her existence but only here on this press and tile floor.