Speaking of the crazies...

Today I had one of those subway rides which remind me to never leave the apartment without my iPod. Coming home from my haircut (it's super cute, btw), I was sitting there reading the back of the advent calendars I'd bought my nephews. Some random guy comes in and squeezes in between me and the cute woman next to me. First he starts to try to talk with her, but she was smart enough to keep her iPod on full blast... either that or she pretended to be deaf or French or whatever. Anyhow, he turns to me and starts with "How you doin'?" Totally defenseless and giving anyone the benefit of the doubt, I tell him I'm good, how's he. He's fine, so I'm steering clear of the New York assholes? Well, I don't find that New York has an exceptional amount of assholes, really. Well, he feels sometimes like he's walking around with a neon sign that says "Fuck Me" on it. That's too bad, it shouldn't be like that, is he from New York? No, he's from Cleveland. Does he ever think of going back? Well, his whole family wants him back home, his mom, his aunt, his cousins, his brother... I have to interrupt and tell him that it's my stop. He hopes that God blesses me and I tell him to take it easy. I leave, even though it's really not my stop. The stop I normally take is one further on. But it's only an extra couple of blocks to walk it home, all the time thinking about how desperate this guy must be to spill out as he was beginning to to a complete stranger. Doesn't he have friends to talk to? Co-workers? A therapist? Has he alienated everyone around him? And yet, despite the fact that there is this part of me that wants to listen and make him feel better, the stronger and smarter part of me tells me to run as fast as possible. I don't know the rest of his story, but if experience has taught me anything, it's how to recognize an emotional black hole. I hope him the best, but I can't help him.