She Was Afraid of the Homeless Guy
From St Barts' monthly Gay and Lesbian Fellowship, I decided I should go home right away. I soon found myself in the subway station. I saw that it was empty, dank smelling as usual, & except for myself and a homeless fellow who was standing towards the front of the station, waiting for things to happen, the station looked scary. The homeless fellow's body looked bent, given his tall, large frame, and I thought he must have not taken a bath for over a month. Looking for some signs of company, and with no train arriving or departing whatsoever, I realized how this empty station can bring about images of getting violently struck somewhere in the city, for no apparent reason. But reason crept in fast, and I kept myself from being anxious. The homeless fellow looked surprised as well, as we were alone for over 7 minutes in the station. I figured out that I can easily outrun him, in case he turns violent against me, as I walked and got myself seated in the benches in the middle of the station.
Then in a few minutes, passengers started to pour in. I saw at least 8 passengers coming into the station, and walking towards my direction. A lady soon sat beside me, and asked if I was Filipino, to which I responded in turn if she's Filipina (I knew the answer though, and realized from the way she carried herself that she's a housekeeper or a nanny in one of those households in the Tristate area). Typically Filipino, she offered to share me the roasted chestnuts she has on her tiny hands, put in a small brown bag. She asked me if I did not get myself scared from the homeless fellow. I told her, without admitting her what I actually felt, that the homeless fellow's just so common, and that we see a lot of them anywhere in the city.
She explained that she was actually way ahead of me, and she was dead scared of homeless people (particularly in that situation when they were all alone by themselves in a not well lighted subway station along 5th Avenue in Manhattan). She actually had to hide somewhere, and made sure the homeless fellow did not get to see her. I could still see how scared she was from the way she described her experience on finding herself alone with the homeless guy. Her eyes glint of excitement and scare.
Soon the train arrived. We continued our chatting in Tagalog inside the train. We were happy we're away from the dark station, and we're relieved to be heading to our separate destinations for the rest of the day.
POSTSCRIPT: I was recently with another friend at the same 5th Avenue Station of the Lines E and V of the MTA Subway System. This time, the station was pretty crowded, being 5:30pm then, and people are rushing to get in to their next destinations. My friend and I were deep in exchanging details of what have been happening lately in our respective lives (it's always a big relief to be able to share these details with friends who'd be fond more of listening than talking, actually [LAUGHTER]). At the side of my right eye, I saw the same homeless guy. Now I remember, he's really that fluent, and had a great tone in speaking out his jumbled thoughts. He's actually churning out very poetic lines. He's dark skinned, balding, with patches of curled hair on the sides, with dirty white shirt. He didn't really smell bad, but he looked like he's smelling as bad. It's my imagination that keeps my interest on him. I tried recalling his poetic lines. Soon, he was talking with a pretty blonde woman, who responded as well to his inquiries. What I heard was that they were talking about how women try to go out of their way to search for prospective partners as they go about with the details of mundane daily life. I tried hard to listen more, and keep on keeping attention to what my friend's telling me. He said this particular homeless guy has been reported several times to the police, and he's always been back to the same station. He also found him sensible sounding, as he hears him saying out loud in a clear voice his short meditative sounding-like thoughts about life. He's really sounding philosophical, as I may describe him more. Yet, he's really endearing to everyone who'd get to hear him speak out loud those lovely sounding, short poetic lines he's got in his current state of mind.
Then in a few minutes, passengers started to pour in. I saw at least 8 passengers coming into the station, and walking towards my direction. A lady soon sat beside me, and asked if I was Filipino, to which I responded in turn if she's Filipina (I knew the answer though, and realized from the way she carried herself that she's a housekeeper or a nanny in one of those households in the Tristate area). Typically Filipino, she offered to share me the roasted chestnuts she has on her tiny hands, put in a small brown bag. She asked me if I did not get myself scared from the homeless fellow. I told her, without admitting her what I actually felt, that the homeless fellow's just so common, and that we see a lot of them anywhere in the city.
She explained that she was actually way ahead of me, and she was dead scared of homeless people (particularly in that situation when they were all alone by themselves in a not well lighted subway station along 5th Avenue in Manhattan). She actually had to hide somewhere, and made sure the homeless fellow did not get to see her. I could still see how scared she was from the way she described her experience on finding herself alone with the homeless guy. Her eyes glint of excitement and scare.
Soon the train arrived. We continued our chatting in Tagalog inside the train. We were happy we're away from the dark station, and we're relieved to be heading to our separate destinations for the rest of the day.
POSTSCRIPT: I was recently with another friend at the same 5th Avenue Station of the Lines E and V of the MTA Subway System. This time, the station was pretty crowded, being 5:30pm then, and people are rushing to get in to their next destinations. My friend and I were deep in exchanging details of what have been happening lately in our respective lives (it's always a big relief to be able to share these details with friends who'd be fond more of listening than talking, actually [LAUGHTER]). At the side of my right eye, I saw the same homeless guy. Now I remember, he's really that fluent, and had a great tone in speaking out his jumbled thoughts. He's actually churning out very poetic lines. He's dark skinned, balding, with patches of curled hair on the sides, with dirty white shirt. He didn't really smell bad, but he looked like he's smelling as bad. It's my imagination that keeps my interest on him. I tried recalling his poetic lines. Soon, he was talking with a pretty blonde woman, who responded as well to his inquiries. What I heard was that they were talking about how women try to go out of their way to search for prospective partners as they go about with the details of mundane daily life. I tried hard to listen more, and keep on keeping attention to what my friend's telling me. He said this particular homeless guy has been reported several times to the police, and he's always been back to the same station. He also found him sensible sounding, as he hears him saying out loud in a clear voice his short meditative sounding-like thoughts about life. He's really sounding philosophical, as I may describe him more. Yet, he's really endearing to everyone who'd get to hear him speak out loud those lovely sounding, short poetic lines he's got in his current state of mind.
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