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The bus lurched forward before I had found a seat. I was thrown back and nearly fell into the lap of an elderly woman. She gave me a disapproving look, as if I had invaded her personal space on purpose. I grabbed the metal bar and caught my footing, though my body was still susceptible to the sporadic acceleration of the driver. And then I saw her, sitting with her back to me, the fingers of her visible hand twirling a stem of jasmine.