I noticed her as soon as I got on the bus: a thin woman, with long, wild, ratted brown hair. She was wearing big sunglasses and a fur coat that looked old, and had a battered, hardside briefcase on the seat beside her. As I passed by and sat down in the seat behind her, I realized that she was muttering to herself, the same phrase, over and over and over.
"Prostitution, Social Security, and incest," she said. "Prostitution, Social Security, and incest."