She carries a bag. An overnight bag, checked and buffed. She sways. Alone. Is she on her way home? Did she just come from home? What does she carry? Is it just the damp washing she's crammed in or has she been kicked out? Broken off with? Carried out a breaking off? This thing has been tossed. She flees--slowly but surely. No--resolutely. And now she takes the tube home. With the things she could think to collect.
Something slips from her hand. The sensation is barely registered by her fingers, but then she sees that what was once clasped against her phone is gone. A young woman in the seat she stands by picks up the travel card and hands it to her. She smiles and mutters a thank you. She must be tipsy. Not too much to drink, but just enough to dull the senses. Just enough for a card to drop unnoticed. As she plans to. Drop. Away.