Death likes late nights and early mornings. Barely 6am and the medical examiner is speeding by, racing down the empty streets. What a terrible task, picking up death’s mess. {5 am, January, 15th, 2007, she stopped breathing; Almost midnight, August, 8th, 2008, he suffered a massive heart attack}

I walked on the bus, fluorescent lights hurting my eyes. It’s quiet and the Navy vet stares at me. His eyes follow me all the way to my seat, he pivots to watch me and I avoid eye contact. I can’t look at veterans, the poor ones make me sad. You were willing to die and this is how the government pays you…{by not paying you at all}…

That security guard, he patrols what cars come in and out from the school campus. This was the norm for him, as he smiled and greeted everyone on the bus. He actually smiled…goodness gracious I didn’t know that he could. He can’t afford his deadly habit, I suppose it’s routine to ask the disabled man (who’s most likely homeless) if he’s got a spare. It would be horrible if that’s the only reason he talks to him.

The little old lady with her cane cannot walk on the bus, so the driver is kind enough to use the wheelchair lift. She talks to the driver the whole ride {we couldn’t challenge him, we didn’t know anything about lawyers, says the little old lady}, all while laughing and smiling. The driver left the bus for a minute and she grew quiet, her face becoming dark. When the driver came back, she continued to talk. I wish she would never stop smiling; her smile lit up her face, missing teeth and all {what a smile; for once, inner beauty prevails}. I think she tried to talk to me, but I couldn’t hear her, I had music playing {It’s never nice to know you’re talking to yourself when you’re surrounded by people}. I wish I could take her hand and let her talk to me all she wanted to, so she would never stop smiling, but in these days you just don’t do that {some people actually need others}.

There’s another old woman, but more fragile than the first. She clings to the bus stop because she cannot stand on her own. Her hair is disheveled, she wears fleece pjama pants with hearts on them and a long, mismatching, plaid looking coat. The little walker has dingy bags on them. She’s quiet and has a look of exhaustion imprinted on her face, evident in the deep lines. This one doesn’t smile or talk, I suppose poverty destroys joy {I wonder what stories about her life could she tell me? Were things ever better?}.

Peculiar man, with a beard. The beard is what catches my attention {I hate long beards}, but then I look at his shirt and I see “Best Grandpa” and I wonder if he was really a grandpa or if that was his only clean shirt.

I once gave a man $15 dollars. He was sitting outside of the grocery store and I was heading in for breakfast and some change. He was playing the accordion and had a golden retriever sitting under his chair, strong and silent. He had a hearing aid and his movements were slow and labored. The man had his eyes closed most of the time. I almost started crying and went into the store. I came back outside and the man had stopped playing, reaching in for the change and dollar bills others had given him. I slipped the $15 dollars in his little cup and he looked up at me. I quickly turned and walked away. People told me I had given him too much money, I could be helping him feed his addiction, that I shouldn’t be giving people like that money, that it’s their own fault. I’ll never know if the old man was deceiving me, but I can be sure that he needed those $15 dollars more than I needed them. The elderly are to be cared for, not be placed in front of a store playing the accordion.

I gave the missionary all the money I had in my pockets once. It was hot outside, she was dressed completely in white and she was probably almost out of the middle-aged stage. She stood there handing out pamphlets, but she wasn’t preaching, just asking people to support her cause. I gave her everything I had in my pockets. I’m not religious, but I gave her my money anyway.

Then the real question come to mind, a subtle revelation:

How can I help you?