The Paris subways were packed. Each car was filled with people, most of them standing up to the point where even the seats were locked in their upright position to make room. Amidst this bustle, I saw a group of teenaged girls. One of them in particular stood out.
She had a bag of ice pressed against her forehead. A thin trickle of blood slid down her face, and her hair was damp and frigid. She'd been in some sort of fight, and she was quite visibly in pain. Luckily she was still lucid and her eyes were very sharp and alive.
Her friends, however, didn't seem to take notice in the slightest. They talked among themselves; the cart was too packed to make out what they were saying. The injured one would sometimes make a point or an argument, but she wasn't nearly as animated as the others. In the group of about six, she was the only one who seemed to take any notice of the cramped conditions or the distinct smell of sweat.
The subway started to slow down as it approached the next station. People huddled at the entrances in an effort to be the first to escape. For a moment everything was in chaos, and at that moment the teenaged girls all ceased their chatter and got into a strict formation.
It was hard to see if you weren't looking for it, but they had surrounded an elderly woman in almost a perfect circle. The girl with the ice bag looked straight into her eyes and exchanged some words while one of her friends rooted through the old woman's pockets. She emerged with a wallet and some loose change, and as the doors slid open the six girls melded into the crowd and exited onto the station.
The subway doors closed. The train left the station. As it moved, I looked out the window and saw the injured girl dump the ice pack into the bin. The girls immediately separated and moved towards different exits.
Undoubtedly they'd already set up a meeting place for later.
