I finally hopped on the train headed to Manhattan after waiting for what felt like forever. Phone in hand, I headed straight for an empty seat, shivering in the crisp spring air. The light drizzle wasn't enough to make me upset about not carrying an umbrella with me, but it did make me wish I had a warmer jacket. The train moved, steadily on its way to a destination far beyond my own.
I don't remember when it happened, but at some point a disheveled-looking man decided to come join the other passengers and me in our subway car; one hand clutched a cane that helped sturdy his slight frame, his other guarded a paper cup that was temping as a makeshift change purse. His arm spasms, either from cold or fatigue, added "tambourine" to the cup's resume. He definitely was underdressed for this kind of weather, especially in this time of fluctuating forecasts and dewpoints.
He stood as tall as his cane and limp would allow, and cleared his throat in anticipation of a speech he's practiced many times prior. "Ladies and gentlemen, sorry to disturb you tonight, but it's been a while since I had something to eat." It's a speech I've often heard in the past; he's not the first to deliver it, and he certainly won't be the last. In fact, I recited the ending along with him, though only in my head lest the other passengers think I'm crazy for reiterating his lines. This is his podium, after all.
"If you could spare me some change, I would truly appreciate it."





