child of god

Empty 2 quart bottle next to him on the floor. Stink and cloudy gaze cast hazily about the fellow passengers. On a crowded train where people are standing, the seat next to him is empty. His pants aren't all the way up because there's no belt. It could be some fashion statement, or he could really be 'jailin' as the smell of him denotes a stint in the clink during recent hours.. But as he sits it's obvious the waistband stops well short of the tighty whities. It's this, more than the smell and curious, hazy begging in his eyes that keeps that seat empty. One might sit down and find yourself in contact with that naked bit of upper thigh.

The fragrance of hard liquor on breath is broken up by the aroma of tomato sauce and oregano coming from the take home pizza a woman boards, clutching in her hands. He points a dirty finger toward the box, asking if he can have her leftovers. By the looks of her, she's chubby enough to not warrant needing anything in that box, but she refuses. Turns to keep the box away from him.

It takes him minutes to stand up and get ready for the next stop. I keep hoping that those pants timidly holding to his thighs won't fall. He picks up his empty bottle and tries stuffing it under the mass of his many layers of shirts, dropping it once. When the doors open he lurches out and we all hear the smash of that bottle onto the platform. Passengers react, shake their heads. He staggers off down the platform, child of god.