  I. a slight, airy cross hangs between the woman's breasts. nose like a dancer on that one. great choreography. long ride into the city. the cross bounces up and down between the breasts. the chain keeps it stuck to the woman.
"this has been the worst day," she says to the person next to her. "when i get to the pub i'm going to order a mix drink. with liquor as the liquor and liquor as the mixer. " II. don't like understanding every word people say. jarring.
reach for estonian words every time i talk. then realize i can leave those on the shelf. english will do. it's the only thing that will do. III. the hostage's head is made of lead and slate.
it has no human features and reaches upwards, doesn't get far. it looks as though fingers with no fingernails were raked down one side. nothing to say, no mouth to say it with. it tried to form itself into a weapon, a sharp arrowhead, before it froze. it was soft and beautiful once. ("Head of a Hostage" is a sculpture by Jean Fautrier, on display at the Tate Modern art museum) IV.
"i don't want botox," says the man in the deep blue pull-over. "you definitely need it," says the woman with the brown cap pulled down tight. "yeah, you need it," says the woman in the smokey pink cashmere sweater. V. "I don't like this," says the woman, and she walks quickly past Head of a Hostage. She moves eagerly toward a pretty golden bust of St. Peter without bothering to read the title of the Fautrier sculpture, or the curator's note: "At night [Fautrier] could hear the Gestapo torture and execute prisoners in the nearby woods. " I don't like this , he must've thought to himself.
Unfortunately St. Peter was nowhere in sight at the time. * *When Jesus was betrayed, Peter drew his sword to defend him, but denied him later in the same night, as Jesus had predicted he would (John 13; Mat. 26.26-46, 57-75). 
