Clam Chowder

There is a man sitting next to me on the 6 this afternoon who smells. Though there is a stench, it is not bad enough for me to give up my hard-won seat on the crowed train. He is one of those characters that is simply hard to read. He is dressed in dirty, baggy clothes with a backpack but doesn’t seem mentally ill. One of those in between people you can’t quite classify as homeless or as normal. After a minute of trying to figure him out I give up and start reading my new February issue of Elle magazine.

At 14^th street a bum gets on the train and starts begging for money. He wanders around the car, calling out for donations. I see this at least once a week and am not the only one who is used to this-nobody gives him a second glance. We all just focus a little bit harder on our rumpled and folded copies of the Wall Street Journal. The bum realizes this crowd is useless to him and starts to mutter aimlessly in defeat.

The smelly guy next to me finally speaks out. Everyone looks up at him- what is he going to do?

Hey man, you hungry? I got some clam chowder in my bag. Want it?

Oh yeh, sure I’ll take it. The bum outstretches his hands.

Now this guy has the car’s full attention as he rumbles through his sack of weirdness. We all are watching to see what he actually is going to pull out of his backpack and if the this guy is actually going to take it. Uneventfully, he pulls out a container that very well looks like it could be soup. The bum thanks him and gets off at the next stop.