Mo's Deadpan Request

The nicotine withdrawal would kick in soon after skipping a couple days of lighting up a cigarette, and I figured that it was time for a new pack. Unfortunately, it would be at a gas station up in Niles after I dropped off my brother for his sporting tournament. At this particular gas station, I inquired about the price for a pack of Marlboro Reds, dubious as to whether or not I wanted to make a purchase. Without showing any emotion, he asked for my ID, even after I merely asked for the pack's pricing and not the actual possession of it.
"I just want to know the price," I told him, yet he persisted, the bastard.
I gave up my ID and he asked about the name and birth date. He asked with a face like he had seen his own dog being mauled by a pair of vicious characters who had a personal vendetta against him, and I'd like to imagine that his former wife had cheated on him because he no longer "was a man". This cashier really grinded my gears, up to the point where I took my ID and left, finally saying aloud, "I just wanted to know what the fucking price was, asshole."
I went back into the car with malicious images, mentally cursing at the bastard for providing such a futile and rough time for a simple question.
I named him Mo because he reminds me of a neighbor I used to hate with a passion.

The Turtle's Desperation

En route to the airport, I was casually holding a pizza box that now only contained three slices after devouring half of it and giving away one to some grand hag before hoping on the train. A bum had caught sight of the box, which gave him this invisible obligation to approach me and ask for a slice. He had reeked of mad piss, a shaggy beard that was in deep need of a cut, and thrifty clothing from a year before today's. The scent was too strong, too vicious - I gave him a slice before he could articulate his request for a slice. This time, I didn't feel bad for him, as I usually do with the homeless folk. I felt anger toward him. I'm not well-aware of this man's past, but there seems to be a bleak ambience of avoidance that eventually just builds up after encountering a great number of bums. Half of them were sincerely asking for assistance, while the other half (the scum of the planet) merely adventured for cupidity and total advantage of the ones who try, at least to some extent.
I gave the bastard the cold shoulder and exited the train, no longer interested in being surrounded by that stench and by that failed seeker.
I named him Turtle, because he reminds me of those fucking Ninja Turtles who love pizza.

The Grand Ol' Daddy

Surrounded by another crowd of peculiar strangers and the fulfilling lights of the train car, I sat by myself as passengers entered and exited between each and every stop, all while I read a book to quickly kill time. The predominance of my counters on public transit are usually met with some sort of substance, a particular ambience in the air that captures a moment like your favorite scene in a film. And when I met the Grand Ol' Daddy, I knew that it would another one of those cases.
Surpassing a grand elderly age, he stepped onto the train car with a suitcase and an arched back that made it nearly impossible to walk straight without complication. A neighboring black man saw Grand looking for an open seat, in which where the black man gave up his seating for the elder individual. All Grand Ol' Daddy did was smile and look down, as if he was nervous around the company of complete strangers. But who would conduct some harm onto him, though? The man could barely walk!
When I had finished perusing another chapter, Grand got up and departed the train car, all without uttering any words or imperative eye contacts. He never went to the airport; why did he carry a suitcase?
I named him Grand Ol' Daddy because he reminds me of someone from my past.

Thomas Without Possessions

Once after a long day of work and annoyance toward the ugly parts of society, which has kept me usually malcontent, I walked away from the school campus to smoke a cigarette before proceeding on to worse or better things. Just when my afternoon was running along smoothly, a homeless man, Thomas, asked me for one. Immediately, I had told him "no", mostly due to my numerous past experiences with inquiries by homeless folk in pertains to my tobacco. He soon walked over me as I continued to say "no" to him, yet he persisted. Once he invaded my personal space, he asked me to take a whiff from it. I had told him that this was mine, and when I'm done I intend to toss out the filter and whatever remains within in. Still he persisted, until I finally told him, "Okay, I gotta go. Whatever, man."
A few days, I saw Thomas on the steps somewhere in the downtown area. He began to speak to me, then I quickly interrupted him and offered him a cigarette. He gladly accepted it as I sat down next to him, opening my Marlboro Reds and thus providing one for him. He expressed his gratitude, then I got up and departed, delving into the potential horrors of the night.
I named him Thomas, because he reminds me of someone from both my past and mind.

The Lonely Consumer Says Thank You

This time, I was lucky enough to witness the arrival of The Lonely Consumer, who had appeared with his usual attire of broken glasses, casual clothes, and something to peruse while eating his meal. It would be the last time I would get to see this mysterious man, even though it is entirely my fault for never introducing myself to him since he was a regular. The only time we made contact was when he jotted down a short list of tunes to put on for the restaurant's music. Marvin Gaye and Chuck Berry were the only ones I could recall, each followed by a particular track that I've also lost my memory to. When the impromptu tracklist was set to go, I walked by The Lonely Consumer to tend to my work, when he said, "Thank you", with a kind smile - that specific smile that shows that you've made someone's day just a bit brighter; if I left the restaurant with anything good, it would be the tiny yet heartwarming moments that are often looked by.
As a resident of Desolation Row, I leave you with this: if you see that smile, you've done good. If you don't, then make it right.