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.

Bruno, with hands buried deep

Too many depressing-looking travelers lurk within the train cars of the CTA, there's no doubt about that, but there tends to be one person here and there who greatly showcases their sorrow. A man named Bruno sat himself alone by my left side. I was too indulged with my reading at the time, so deep that I refused to look up and survey my recently added temporary neighbors, that I didn't bother to look over at this man in time to see him before his mood changed. It was then he collapsed into his hands; poor old Bruno, with hands buried deep with sorrow - I did not know what to do. Normally I would ignore a stranger's sadness due to our recent acquaintance, yet the sympathy was too atavistic that I had to move away, for I felt his pain... and thank goodness I didn't hear his cries.
I named him Bruno, because he reminds me of someone from my past.

Weary Ruben

After a lengthy night of playing cards and a tedious morning of collecting books for my courses, I stumbled upon another individual whose identity was blocked by sunglasses and a distance between me and him. I got distracted at one point when a moronic bastard behind decided to blast her music through her cheaply purchased headphones. I couldn't read the book I had in my hands due to her insolence and disgusting existence, which lead me to observe my surroundings to fill my frustration. I saw him with those black sunglasses, those shades that could hide anything relative to the window of the soul; I was right. At one point, he removed his sunglasses to lean against the hard window for comfort, yet all I saw was weariness and exhaustion within those eyes, troubled by heavy bags and the upper eyelid sliding down halfway, close to collapsing. I knew he was in no good shape, but I can never find the strength in me to walk up to someone like Ruben and give them a hug; everyone needs love. But I am merely a stranger, an idle bystander existing in your essential lifetimes for solely ten seconds or less. Why was this young person so sad, so tired? Was there family troubles at home? Was he fired from his job? I have no idea, and it scares me to say that I'll never know.
I named him Ruben, because he reminds me of someone from my past.