He stands before us as a thespian offering an acute performance. We sit unwillingly in attendance. Our seats are musty, soiled, plastic shapes; its filth deeply ingrained in its form. The orator grabs the metal poles jutting from ceiling to floor; he steadies himself as the train moves forth. Turning forward to back he belts his words, his plea for aid.
He begins with an apology for disturbing our quiet commute. He explains the severity of his familys situation. Hes homeless. He has a three-year-old son, whose presence is unaccounted. His wife is hungry. He points to her; she stands against the metal doors ignoring the sign that forbids leaning against themas we all are guilty ofher face cupped in her hands. She weeps. Or, shes fraught with shame.
He calls to our empathy and judges our complacency; he says, I know what its like to sit on those seats and hear someone like me. Im sorry if I disturb you but I was once just like you. Anyone of you can be where Im at right now. The way he conveys his words is eloquent, with sincerity and moves many.
As he walked the aisle of the undulating train, dollars and coins fly at his pocket. I too offer my last bill. Very few commuters proffer scowls of skepticism.
Entering a station, we slow to a stop. As the doors open, the man grabs his wife and hurries through the exit. As they depart he says to his spouse, We got it. he threw his arm around her frame with vigor and shook her with a bit of excitement, he repeated, We got it, dont worry baby, we gonna score.
Dollar for Dopamine
JA Freeman
He begins with an apology for disturbing our quiet commute. He explains the severity of his familys situation. Hes homeless. He has a three-year-old son, whose presence is unaccounted. His wife is hungry. He points to her; she stands against the metal doors ignoring the sign that forbids leaning against themas we all are guilty ofher face cupped in her hands. She weeps. Or, shes fraught with shame.
He calls to our empathy and judges our complacency; he says, I know what its like to sit on those seats and hear someone like me. Im sorry if I disturb you but I was once just like you. Anyone of you can be where Im at right now. The way he conveys his words is eloquent, with sincerity and moves many.
As he walked the aisle of the undulating train, dollars and coins fly at his pocket. I too offer my last bill. Very few commuters proffer scowls of skepticism.
Entering a station, we slow to a stop. As the doors open, the man grabs his wife and hurries through the exit. As they depart he says to his spouse, We got it. he threw his arm around her frame with vigor and shook her with a bit of excitement, he repeated, We got it, dont worry baby, we gonna score.
Dollar for Dopamine
JA Freeman
jafreeman1:
Thank you. I embellished slightly. It's 90% true. The dialogue in the end did not occur but once they seemed to receive what they needed they left the train very suspiciously. There was an odd enthusiasm and the wife (assuming she is in fact his wife) seemed to change moods. I felt swindled. I thought of what he said and his three year old son when I gave my last dollar, knowing I was days away from pay. I felt pretty naive watching them depart the train.