At Least They're Committed

A couple sits together on the bus, except he gets off two stops before her. He exits at the rear and, as the bus waits for the light, he looks up four or five times to see if maybe she’s looking back. She’s not. He frowns and veers off into his building of employment.

Two middle aged dudes walking down the street looking down. When a mere 10 paces away from collision, they look up and notice each other. One dances to his left, the other to his right to get out of each others’ way. But of course, that means they simply both jumped the same direction. They reverse, the first to the right, the second to the left. Again, they face each other. And then again . . . until the man who is facing me in the dance becomes flush and visibly upset. He stops as the other steps to the side and they at last pass each other. As facing man goes by me I chuckle and he at last loosens the grimace on his face and starts to smile.

There’s a man in the dive diner I pass each day as I stroll to the evening bus heading north. His hair is long and he’s got a goatee. He’s my age and would be quite attractive if he weren’t homeless and didn’t drink beer every day.

The troll stands on Broadway and 18th Street holding a sign asking for help. He’s thin and ancient and probably not as old as he looks, but I call him the troll because I can’t pass him in good conscience without giving him a dollar or my change, a self imposed surcharge for crossing his ‘bridge.’

Theeeeese people, they aren’t making being me an easier.