G Train Life

What’s up, computer.

This evening I am at the Variety coffee roasters typing, typing, typing, researching cable knit sweaters, typing, listening to dogs bark, peeking discreetly for the third time at the person sitting next to me, sipping tap water, typing, typing, typing, wondering if my celebrity neighbor will pop in tonight, looking at the remnants of a soy latte, typing, putting my sweater on, smiling politely at the man pacing the cafe, taking my sweater off, polishing my glasses, going to the bathroom, typing typing typing.

This morning I spent my half hour commute sitting next to a man covered in shit. The 7 o’clock G train is typically inviting in terms of seating due to the fact that everyone on board is toting a Milwaukee contractor bag. Which is to say that the crowd is regularly limited to construction workers, indie high school students, and myself; a natural blend of both these categories. However, from time to time blue collar men run late, white collar men run early, the weather runs cold, and outsiders join our biosphere.

The orange and yellow seating, in turn, becomes less inviting. (The stares, incidentally, do not.) So I do my time standing against the door waiting for rest and at the same time that a seat for me opens up, a seat for a stranger does too. He is a heavy man with three coats, two of which have a certain smell to them….

I’m balancing trying to show the man that I’m an ally with not having to smell him. If you’re covered in shit the last thing you need is someone snarling at you and avoiding you like you have the plague. Like, okay, yes of course that’s going to be the natural reaction to those around you. But you’re suffering enough already! More than they are! So anyway I’m like this man is probably having a pretty hard time let me send him some empathy by discretely lifting my sweater over my nose like I’m a little chilly. But oh my god he smells so bad…