The Lonely Consumer

He sinks his teeth into the well-cooked meal he is fully prepared to pay for, embracing each bite as if his life depended on it. One hand is focused on his meal, and the another is dedicated to holding a page he's reading from a indistinguishable book I cannot identify. As this individual sits upon the counter alone, he never utters a word to another passerby or a helpful hand from the restaurant staff, yet he indulged himself into his own desolation, not focusing on the importance or vitality of the breathing and ever-growing population - just his own. He would frequently observe the atmosphere of the area, but no words dared to come out; his eyes did all the talking. The most upsetting aspect was his emptiness - no one sat near him, like a neglected classmate in high school during lunch period. I never saw him enter, nor did I see him leave. Either he was swift in entering and exiting, or I'm going insane.
I named him The Lonely Consumer, because he reminds me of someone from my mind.

The Dirt Wanderer

After a long night of traveling back and fro across the city, I decided to call it in and head home, ignoring the fact that it was past midnight and the trains would be flooded in scum, the homeless, nocturnal travelers en route to the airport, and slackers of the youth on their way to cause trouble to their fragile bodies. It was a day where I didn't have my headphones for music and a book to peruse, so all I had were my powers of observation and cognizance, although I was already sickened by the sight of these fiends. Yet one caught my attention, usually due to her dirty knees and loose mouth. While aimlessly reading the advertisements held up high on the train, my eyes caught her, mostly locked onto her knees: slightly red but mostly coated in dirt, in which a filthy assumption was conceived, even after glancing at her lips, soft and loose in structure. Above all else, she seemed completely out of it, mayhap under the influence of something, or weary from the long day she endeavored and endured. Since I was on the Red line portion of the public transportation system, I had to conduct a transfer to another line, meaning that my encounter with this Dirt Wanderer was cut short. As I got myself prepared to depart and transfer on over, I looked at her one more time and left.
I named her The Dirt Wanderer, because she reminds me of someone from my mind.

Disappointed

She looked down at her lap, then at me, then back at lap until her eyes met the shades of the nearby window, quiet in dark contemplation and at a loss for words. Tears ran down her wonderful face, and her eyes became red as pain worsened in her stomach and especially within her heart. When our eyes first met, there was an instant connection that was begging to be worked upon; now when they meet, it was merely time counting down until departure. Little did I know that this would be the last time I would see her ever again. I didn't kiss her, I didn't hold her close, and I never got a chance to utter those legendary three words. Before I could say anything else, she jolted from the bed and gathered her things in a swift fashion, aware that my presence was like a plague, and she didn't dare come closer. At that moment, I needed to hold her close, but she just walked away. I sat there for a good five minutes, realizing that I am a monster. I'll drink to that.
I named her Disappointed, because she was.

When karma strikes

In order to blow off some unnecessary steam accumulated by the departure of certain individuals, I drove over to McDonald's around midnight to punish my body with chemicals induced into a burger (you've heard the stories, especially the involvement with pink slime, I'm certain). With a static radio and low traffic, the wind blew against me in adequate velocities as I proceeded down Harlem Avenue to the nearest famous and somewhat notorious fast food joint. As I pulled up to the drive-thru, a notion quickly fired, realizing that I wasn't that hungry at all - I ended up with a McChicken sandwich and some fries, and two receipts. I paid for my own meal, while also offering to pay for the person right behind me. Of course, there was mild bewilderment (with a flabbergasted face) from the drive-thru employee, but eventually he said that I was good to go, so I drove off, knowing that my rare good deed was committed.
Here's where it gets interesting. The day after, a couple of mates and me stopped by the local 7-11 to purchase a few rounds of Slurpees for our weak bodies to endure. Once we reached the front to pay for our drinks, a late-thirties, early-forties, gentleman offered to pay for our items. With great and sincere gratitude, he told us to stay in school and all that junk. Eventually I shared my McDonald's experience with them right after the Slurpee mission, and one mate, Sandy, said, "Dude, that's good karma right there!" This lead to an epiphany: karma does exist. I didn't believe in it before (such hope I once possessed), but this slight connection and chain of events proved my faith otherwise.
As a resident of Desolation Row, I leave you with this: do good for people, for they will eventually do good for you.

Sentimental value always prevails

Some time ago, an item of certain sentimental value was burned to a crisp while being manipulated as the center point for a bonfire, but not by me. This particular item I once had was given to a dear friend, whom I believed to have had my trust. Eventually, as typical college and youthful drama occurred, this friend used the item as a somewhat brick of wood to ignite a bonfire to burn everything we once shared: old photographs from our happiest times, tiny gifts, and essentially anything related to me. When this bonfire was discovered, this friend of mine was with me when I asked this friend where the item was. To this, the friend said, "Oh, haha. Yeah, about that - it's gone. It was used for a bonfire to burn all of our stuff." I couldn't help but feel slightly broken by this revelation, knowing that this item (which was my first copy of Watchmen, the graphic novel by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons) has been disintegrated into blind thin air. In turn, this friend attempted to rectify the fatuous action by purchasing another copy of the book for me, yet clearly there is no comprehension for anything related to sentimental value.
As a resident of Desolation Row, I leave you with this: if you have acquired something of value, either personal and/or importance, try not to give it away. The inner value reflects only you.

Bianca's somber ride

It's fairly easy to point out who seldom takes a trip upon the CTA. Sometimes it could be the asshole who hogs up both seats in order to keep their belongings safe, secure, and close to them; mayhap they're frightened by the sight of unwanted wanderers nearby, sauntering in between the continuous rows of passengers and asking for change or to sign some counterfeit papers about a basketball team; even the standing individual by the pair of doors could be riding the train for the first time. Once you notice someone of this kind, you could tell that their CTA cherry has officially been popped.
I recently downloaded a massive game onto my phone: Fallout Shelter, which has kept me pretty preoccupied for whenever time needs to be eliminated swiftly. But a fresh rider caught my attention after completing a collection in the game; big buggy eyes of cognizance and irritation, hands folded in the middle of her lap, and the constant gesture of looking back and forth, you could easily presume that this was her first time on the CTA, mostly due to her disgust of looking at the homeless and anyone who sat right next to you. The fear in her eyes were uncanny, as if a child was lost without her parents in a shopping mall. I didn't spend much time looking at her, for I was still distracted by my mobile game, that and the train had finally reached my stop. As I got up to exit the train, I glanced at her for the final time, and the agitation remained within her.
I named her Bianca, because she reminds me of someone from my past.

Cycle Sam and the pass

Us youngsters tend to ignore frivolous matters whilst sauntering down an open sidewalk, where few cars drive by, several children are outside passing a ball around, and seldom encounters with oncoming strangers, who usually stare at you for quick second and then away as if nothing had occurred. At times, you will come across an individual breaking the law by riding a bicycle along the sidewalk. She was approaching her middles ages, with soft wrinkles now beginning to appear upon her face, yet she possessed a kind face; so kind that you couldn't be rude to her, but merely show her the utmost kindness that the world can offer. Without abiding by the law, she chose to ride her casual bicycle on the sidewalk, possibly cognizant of the road rule for when it comes to bicycles (basically right side of the road). With doing so, she rode passed a group of four young adults, but she had to slow down in order to safely pass by. Neither of the young people stepped onto the grass to avoid collision, so she then had two options: ride the grass, or slow her adrenaline. The latter occurred, and she had to sacrifice one foot as a stopping mechanism to avoid hitting us. She smiled, and said, "Excuse me," yet none of the four individuals didn't dare move aside. No one got hurt, for Cycle Sam, still possessing a smile, continued her journey to somewhere I will never know. One of the youngsters looked back at her, but didn't utter a single word.
I named her Cycle Sam, because she reminds me of someone from my mind.

Finally saying farewell

She used to mean everything to me: the softness of her lips, the warm embrace of her gentle hugs, and the glistening and starry look in her eyes whenever she expressed those three unforgettable words, those legendary words that are represented by the warm feeling that's been shared throughout this world and throughout all of history. A whole lot of things were accomplished under our belt, such as hanging out with each other's groups of pals, dinners with families, sleeping over due to lassitude, and the list goes on and on until the nerves stretch far enough to feel almost complete. But yet, complications and differentiations arrive, challenging the pair of us to the edge of emotional breakdowns, anxiety, fear, and the excessive potential of letting it all go. You can call it the usual ups and downs, comes and goes, and any other particular phrase you can conjure up by thinking about it quite often, but to me it was a challenge and a war with feelings, a never-ending course of obstacles, sacrifices, risks, victories, failures, and white flags. This thing we had, this bond we shared, it was just attempted a tad too deep; eventually, it had to come to a close, collapsing of the curtains.
There are some things that I wish I could take back, but it's history now. I moved on from her, yet I still wish the absolute best for her upcoming days. And just recently, we said goodbye.
As a resident from Desolation Row, I leave you with this: sometimes love may seem like a complicated mental and physical trek; even though it isn't right with someone, it will be right with someone else. Don't lose hope because you have a broken heart, because there's somebody out there to pick up the pieces and hold them together. You may call it finding love again, rekindling from a shattered love, or whatever the hell you're comfortable with saying it as; don't lose yourself because of the breakage within you, there's always someone to hold you together, and to keep you away from despair.

Mr. Jack and the smiling family

Without a book in my hand, I tend to observe my surroundings, mentally marking down potential ideas for my crazy, imaginative mind, a habit I've developed ever since I was a child in order to escape the horrors of man-made reality and devastating boredom. Some time ago, I looked over at a family of four posing for a photo around the kiddie area: a man, wife, and two little girls, all smiling and holding each other close, as if their love was strengthened by the physical presence of all into one admirable pose, no sense of bitterness or rancor. The one that caught my attention the most was the father, Mr. Jack, who immediately looked at his wife, and his face brightened with affection and relief, knowing that he was content with his life and choices that he has made. I couldn't help but smile at this, acknowledging a person's happiness puts me in a state of serenity, knowing that there's still good in this world. Shortly after, the family dispersed in pairs: the two girls went back into the kiddie area, and Mr. Jack and his love sauntered back to their seats after thanking the person for shooting the photograph.
I named him Mr. Jack, because he reminds me of someone from my mind.

Jason from the generation plague

There comes without a doubt that this generation has become outright bizarre and freaky in most cases, most in gratitude to the mindless and excessive internet postings about cheap relationship lessons, fifteen second videos of the youth trying too hard to be noticed, and some shit about our zodiac signs that we want and crave to believe in. Among these postings, I've discovered a term called "fuckboy", a growing plague targeting good-looking blokes who somehow are bestowed upon the aforesaid title by aggravated and fatuous individuals in charge of developing these posts. Whilst trying to relax in the resort's hot tub, I witnessed a "fuckboy": well-built body with those thirsty curves (some) women always fall over for, earrings on both ears, and that cursed jawline that faints the generation into a hurricane of uncontrollable hormones. Did I mention his eyes? His eyes, too. What broke me was his state of loneliness, for I always tend to witness groups of young men hunting for herb or women, and he was all by himself; of course I would look at him for a while. Was his family nearby, attending to the youth in the kiddie areas? Did his posse tick him off? Was he on this trip all on his own? The latter assumption might be a bit of an exaggeration, but I'll never truly know.
I named him Jason, because he reminds me of someone from my mind.

Michael, the fast food employee's annoyance

Amid the ambience of delicious smelling wannabe meat, sweaty employees flipping tiny burgers and stuffing bags of fries into the fryer baskets, and the short lines of hungry customers sorely eager to plant their faces into the quickly cooked edibles, I witnessed the breathing fiend of annoyance as I waited for my food. After placing in my order for a dine-in, I waited patiently behind the growing lines of individuals with wallets imminent to reduce in size. I wasn't alone, though, for my mother and other relatives were with me during this time. We were staying at a hotel resort for a small vacation we had all planned. When the resort informed my mother via phone call about our room preparations being finalized, we decided to ask the employee if we could take the food to-go. Thinking that it wasn't that big of deal, he made it seem as if it was an assignment from school that would drive any mundane and causal student over the rails with lengthy trails of questions and utter boredom; this asshole gave my mother a face of disappointment and contempt, yet no words were articulated. I didn't witness this face first-hand, but I sensed that something wasn't at ease, since his colleague kept staring at me with concern and curiosity. Eventually, a relative approached me and informed me on the diminutive incident, yet he held me back, knowing that I would've caused something. I looked at the employee with wonder, wondering why in the world would he be working at a fast food restaurant rather than squandering his futile days behind a computer desk playing an online game instead of expressing faces of scorn to customers due to a simple request.
I named him Michael, because he reminds me of someone from my past.

Lilianna looking out the window

Some time ago, I was hanging out with some friends on a summer afternoon, when the sun wasn't so kind and became so shy that it hid behind the abundance of light gray clouds, ultimately killing the vibe of seeking that hot beam of light from the sky. As we were all hanging out, relaxing to the sense of trustful company, I looked over at one of my friends who stared out the window - mayhap to seek a decent view of the outside, and all I witnessed was the look of ubiquitous beauty. I sat there for merely a few seconds, yet the universe made it seem as if it lasted for a much longer duration. As this happened, the sun decided to show its color and light, peeking through the window and into her eyes, glistening the bright hair from her head and ocean-like waves on the surface of her face, a calm current. When your mind ponders upon beauty, it's rather difficult to let it go from your mind.

I named her Lilianna, because she reminds me of someone from my past.

Interstellar and the colossal music

Whenever I have some spare time on my hands, I tend to do one of three things: sit back and listen to music (genre does not matter), play some video games while also getting enraged by my consistent failure to take down enemies via online, or peruse some articles and books. Today, before work, I decided to take another shot at the Interstellar soundtrack, beautifully composed by Hans Zimmer, since I usually cut it off halfway through due to conflicts with my dull schedule.
So finally I thoroughly listened to the score, laying back peacefully to the sound of the brassy keys from the organs and smooth transitions of the piano, feeling the love that was written and played within the film's composition. Space exploration, far away love that feels so close, and epic disasters, all woven into Zimmer's music. Very seldom do I feel so close to a score (dating back to when I first fell in love with John Williams's legendary Star Wars score), and now I'm mentally and emotionally addicted to this. It sounds so right, and it feels right.
As a resident of Desolation Row, I leave you with this: time is sorely valuable, whether you witness it or not, thus the time that you create is the only time you will have. If you have found something that feels right or it just sounds right (and you know it's a good thing), dedicate some of your time to that aforesaid thing, may be it a film score, a fascinating tale from literature, a new acquaintance who stands out from most of the crowd, or even the sound of a comfortable accessory for yourself, because you have a feeling that this is right. In conclusion, your time is valuable, spend it wisely for yourself, and for what's right for you.

Eddie and Susie on the CTA

It's a rather difficult task to read a book on the CTA for a number of reasons: the numerous victims of breathing pauperdom causing verbal chaos to the quiet innocence; amongst the destitution road lies heavy bumps that only a seat belt could sit someone without slight interruption; after every stop, the automated announcer reminds everyone everyday of the commonality whilst riding the CTA; obnoxious youngsters taking up the quiet space to discuss their plans for the night, palaver over wooden memories, and intoxications polluting their bodies. Some time ago, I attempted to read once again, until I became disturbed by the insolence of a middle-aged asshole taking up two seats just for himself. Stopping around Addison, an elderly lady found that there was an open seat, so she proceeded toward it, a slight saunter. As she tried to make the middle-aged asshole aware of her necessity, he deliberately ignored her, even after when a bloke told him to move so that she could have a seat. Eventually, she walked away, looking to find herself yet another seat that was given up by a young lad. I couldn't read my book any further; I found myself disgusted by this immoral act from this foul creature. I stared at him for a good fucking minute, possessing dark wishful thoughts.
I named them Eddie and Susie, because they remind me of two individuals from my past.

Jessica and Gabriel in the car

Around the evening of yesterday, I drove toward the nearest Bank of America in my neighborhood to conduct a deposit. Without concentrating too much on the idea of selecting decent music to stroll along to, I immediately drove off into the night to my destination, with the window down on my side to feel the cool breeze of wind. With one hand laying upon the steering wheel and the other on my knee, I observed my surroundings, only to find a fighting couple in a car whilst en route to the bank. Even though it was a small glimpse, there was no violence; they merely conflicted in verbal shit speak, mostly indistinctly. I continued driving, looking at my mirror to witness anymore action: they turned the other way without complication. The quiet street was filled with the noise from our vehicles, yet my head was a burning rage of an ancient memory, deeply penetrating my ludicrous youth and regretfully reminiscing.
Their names were Jessica and Gabriel, because they remind me of two individuals from my past.

Antonio from Gamestop

Not so long ago, I once met a bloke named Antonio at a Gamestop to return a title I wasn't satisfied with. Whilst browsing through the large selection of fresh installments, Antonio approached me with minor pleasantries. Fortunately enough for him, I was in a decent mood for some small talk. We exchanged miniature backgrounds, such as our education, living situations, and girls we were involved with. He seemed to be an all right individual, yet I could easily sense that he had a huge burden in his head; I didn't dare ask anything about it.
Ready to complete my purchase, he followed me to proceed with our little impromptu palaver, which started to aggravate me - I was just about ready to go back home and doze off into the rest of the day. Once we departed from Gamestop, he took out his phone and introduced me to a hooking up app, where icons of local singles and cheating whores would showcase themselves for sex (pretty much like Tinder, yet much more straightforward). He mentioned that I should try out the app, but I simply found myself annoyed and disgusted by the app's purpose, so I lied to him by saying that I'll probably check it out once I get home. Adamant as he was, and also quite clingy, he asked for my number and I gave it to him. Finally, I said my farewells and left, knowing that the guy was going to text me once I walked away. Till this day, I have no idea as to why I provided my number.
I named him Antonio, because he reminds me of someone from my past.