Three men are asleep on a bench opposite me on the 7 train. All appear to be in their forties or fifties and are dressed similarly: heavy jackets over multiple layers, hoods or beanies, backpacks. They lean on one another like characters in a Daumier drawing – the one furthest to the left is slumped over on the one in the middle, his head resting on the other man’s shoulder; the man in the middle is leaning back and toward the man on the right. The man on the right meanwhile is pitched forward, his hands resting on his thighs. In his right hand he holds, incongruously, a branch of artificial orchids, one of which has broken off and lies on the floor beneath him. The trio don’t so much as stir during the whole length of my commute.