Old Man and the Seat

No matter what time i seem to travel or where i seem to be going….
home from work
going to work
out for drinks
coming home blurry from too much of the drink
there is a weathered old man i see
he is always on the bus or train and always with a rusted old laundry cart filled with the same items
an empty paper coffee cup ,a subway sandwich and a wooden dowel
chatting with the school girls in the plaid skirts or the thugs in the oversized hoods
he sits on the bus and greets everyone that gets on as if this was his moving bungalow that we seemed to have stepped into just to see him
Speaking perfect Spanish to Mexicans then fluent Russian to tourists just as fluent as a seemingly drunk man with no teeth can possibly speak
always alone just himself with this laundry wagon walker holding him up
never speaking to me just nodding in my direction as if to make my aquaitance
there are days when ive’ had too many and want to try to talk to this man to find out
the story
but even with Arthur Guinness behind me
i never do
when feeling no pain
after a bad day
its more fun to picture this old man is myself coming back in some sort of grand time warped scheme to remind me the world is beautiful..not to be such a sullen bastard all the time
some winning lotto numbers would be better


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