Tuesday, 08 June 2004 | Disinfectant

This is coming to you second-hand.

She stepped into the near-empty subway car with a bag in one hand, and a can of disinfectant spray in the other, finger poised on the trigger. For five solid seconds, she sprayed the mist up and down the empty bench, filling her corner of the car with a flowery-smelling cloud and clearing the germs and the residue of previous passengers out of her way.

Next, she took a paper towel out of her bag and carefully wiped down the bench and the poles that were in her reach. She sat down in the spot she'd disinfected, then deposited the soiled paper towel into a long plastic bag, which she methodically tied off. She produced some sanitizing lotion, greased up her hands, and sat with them clasped in front of her, while she looked nervously around the car and mumbled to herself.

She was in her 30s. Her clothes were immaculate, and her hair was neatly tied up in short braids.

When she stood up as the train slowed to her stop, she held onto a pole with a paper towel she'd readied for that moment.