The Train Platform: 12 AM.

Last night on the platform, I saw a black woman, dressed in all purple garments, playing the drums. her face was wrapped, so i could only see her eyes. Her child was sitting across from her. i could only see the back of his head, covered in his jacket. I listened to the woman play, a sign that read
"the only thing that matters is love" next to her, with a small basket for money.
Her child turned around, and his face was white. He was not her child. I feared he was alone, so I sat with him. We watched the woman play together.
In a few moments, the boy's father came along from a snack vendor with treats for his son. He smiled at me, perhaps to thank me for watching over his kid.
I sat with the small family, and continued to watch the woman play. She offered up a maraca to the child to play with her, and he took it. Then she pulled down
her scarf, revealing the face of a man. It was a man. The child played the maracas with the man. The father took pictures. I learned to never assume.