perhaps inspired by the fact that i've begun reading "the hours":

she wondered at the remarkable specificity of one person's life, one of millions of individual lives in the world as she sat on the metro and watched just some of those lives pour in and out of the subway car. how could it be that no one else in the world was experiencing just what she was feeling, thinking at that very moment? how could it be that no one but her would ever see that moment of time from her specific point of view? to think that no one would be sitting at that seat, holding that purple and gold umbrella in her left hand, clutching a shoulder strap in her right, filled her with a sense of wonder and bittersweetness - for she realized no one would experience that sense of wonder she was feeling at that very moment.

the thought remained at the front of her mind as she walked off the train and up the three stairs leading into union station, where she smiled in appreciation at the attractive young man up ahead who looked back at her with a smile as he waited to hold the door open for her. she bought her pack of gum and strode to the escalators leading out of the station, heading towards her office building with, for the first time this week, a sense of purpose and eager vitality, looking at the familiar surroundings with newer, fresher eyes, realizing that it was a good start to the day and that, regardless of what else happened on this particular friday, it was a good day because of those precious moments of happiness about the sensation, the very essence, of life.