The Empty Space

Travelling from Queens to Manhattan on the F train this morning. Running late but not caring because, well, I could be dead tomorrow for all I know so what's the use in worrying about the time?

At one end of the train near the train doors in the center of a 3-seat section, slept a man. Homeless, except for the train cocoon surrounding. No one would stand near him, as he leaned against a bundle of clothes kept together by a large winter coat whose arms were tied tight. The bundle took up one seat, he took up another, and the third seat contained his fluids. A large plastic bag full of plastic two liter bottles of brown and clear liquids, some empty, all individually wrapped in plastic grocery bags. Except one. One was covered in a bounty paper towel wrapper, which made a new skin on its surface, it was so tightly bound.

The man's head was covered with an orange hoodie and his face shrouded by black dreds.

He did not smell but no one stood near him. The rest of the car was packed, filled with bodies, but around the huddled mass of man was just an empty space. Home.