A Portrait of Two Men

Man one:

He's vaguely obnoxious, and yet adorably so. As we ride in the crowded subway from Flushing to Manhattan, he uses his friend/lover as a make-shift seat, aware of this annoyance and yet no better after getting shoved off. I overhear bits of scrambled conversations - plans for the upcoming week, a reflection on the US Open, and a general mockery of the guy he is with. In fewer than ten minutes worth of observation, I know his personality, and I am grateful that I shared a car with him.

We pull into Times' Square, and he prepares to exit the train by facing himself toward one set of doors. Those aren't the doors that will open when we stop, though, and he lets out an exasperated sigh at his failed attempt to thwart the subway system.

"Seriously?" he challenges.

"You must not be from around here," I retort. I don't usually interact with strangers on the subway, but this was an exception. I knew my sarcasm would serve me well.

"HA!" He laughed, half sincere, and half smart alec, and we walk in different directions down the platform.

Man two:

After dinner at Carnegie Deli, my sister and brother-in-law each had half of their pastrami sandwiches left in takeout containers. We hypothesized about sharing the food with the less fortunate, but only I was 100% serious about the task. When we tried to enter Gershwin Theatre with the food, the ticket-taker said we had to dispose of the half-pastrami half-rueben outside, and I knew it was time to fulfill my mission to feed the homeless on a Tuesday night. I took the sack and began a triumphant walk down 51st Street, looking for anyone who looked to be homeless and who also chose to stay out in the rain, instead of crowding under Starbucks awnings or retreating to the underground. He sat - half-leaning - on the brick wall, strands of wet hair peeking out from his loose wool cap.

I walked up very casually and explained the situation. The way his face lit up, you would think I offered him a lot more than somebody's meager leftovers, but hey, a meal's a meal.

"Thank you, and God bless you," he expressed as we turned back toward the theatre.

 Now, I always want to share my leftovers with the homeless.