Book Beginnings ... never endings

Cuanta la mera sang the busker in the subway; Dorika was beginning to feel nauseous for some reason and the train was barreling noisily down the tunnel tracks. The sudden rush and confusion in her brain was always eminent when so much was happening at one time. She was heading North to Cambridge on the MBTA redline away from the city or Boston proper into education territory. As the train violently pulled into the station for just a brief moment she thought of what it would be like to jump in front of it. 'The pain would probably be so intense yet abrupt. I’d probably be knocked unconscious first then crushed. If death had an easy way out? She always ended suicidal thoughts this way. 'But I am too much of a coward to kill myself and a bigger one in living'. ‘This is the best description of purgatory’ she thought, then she remembered what it was like when she used to be Catholic and then she thought of her mother and felt even sadder and worried about her health, her medications, her doctor’s appointments…
So were her thoughts constantly rehashing ideas and ongoing sufferings and worries of herself and those she loved. The doors to the train opened and she entered wanting to find a seat quickly, one not close to anyone and one no one was likely to sit next to. She always hoped no one would sit next to her all the way to her destination whenever she rode the trains. She especially didn't like the Chinese passengers because they always sat down if there was an empty seat and talked loudly, 'they smell like an oily Chinese restaurant' she thought. They would not be deterred no matter how uninviting she positioned herself. She was reading Earnest Hemingway’s “The Sun also Rises” and it had just begun to get interesting. She was annoyed for most of the first half. The constant post war indulgences, getting into taxicabs, getting out of them, going to the cafes, clubs and hotels and all the descriptive streets of Paris. The hotels and everyone seemed depressed and touch and go. The second half moved on to the Spanish countryside and picturesque mountaintops and springs and wine country and fishing and goats and she was escaping. She wanted to be there to breathe the cold mountain air, wade in the cold streams of trout and drink the red wine that she imagined and was apparently all they drank.