Sentience in a seed-pod

This morning when I was about to board the train a short lady I'd judge to be in her fourties was coming out of the door I wanted to enter. 'HELP ME!' she fairly shouted at me, 'HELP ME! JUST HOLD ME!' I gave her a hand as she lowered herself to the platform. 'Thank you,' she said, as I slipped onto the train. Her voice is the voice of modern man, lost in isolation. She is angry that she has to ask. She is alone, but surrounded. Sometimes we all need to be held. Sometimes we all need to get off the train.