On a typical day, I do not look like a stray. My hair is usually flowing in its rightful place. My clothes coveted by the women in my social circles. I drove my car off the lot brand new with the sunroof back and the stereo blasting Beyoncé with no attention to any cares in the world. I have always looked like I belong to somebody. I have always looked like I was on my way to or coming from somewhere important. New York has a way of humbling you though. One off day and you may as well be just another peasant in the crowd. Today, I didn’t mind it. I preferred it actually. New York is the best place for a Black woman to feel invisible, especially with a tear-stained face. People do the culturally polite thing and tend to their own business. Sometimes, you’ll catch a smile given out of pitiful solidarity. I typically try not to venture into the rat-infested underbelly of this city but I have just emptied my account purchasing a last minute plane ticket and Net 30 is an unfamiliar concept to clients. It becomes too hard to hold myself together on the over complicated train ride to the airport so I get off at the next stop and opt to use my credit card to call a Lyft.