The cold greeting of the big city
The bearded man in his worn brown safari hat and his big blue backpack doesn't quite seem to fit here in the land of mass transit and masses of people. Or does he fit here? Because everybody fits here, when nobody wants to notice.

His steps are shortened but no less purposeful. Do those around him see tourist or local or do they see anything at all?

He sees them. They are black, white, brown, from here, and from out of town. They look worn, and ragged, maybe they'll look better in the morning.

They won't.

It's a land of high heels and pin stripes, but it's a land of tired averted eyes. Sometimes one might smile, sing or cry out, but then they get daggers from the crowd. Who dares invade the solitude of the public commute? Is it a crazy man? Or a bag lady? It's no one and no one cares.

Don't dare mention her painted toenails, or his shock-suspension system. What music throbs from inside the headphones? And where did she get those flared-pink pants? Avert your eyes, in case they see. Avert your eyes. Don't look at me. Or the bearded man in his worn brown safari hat and big blue backpack.

Welcome home to the city, boy. No one cares.