Before waiting for the passengers on the train to step off, eager Bostonians squeezed through the descending crowd and up the steps onto the train, as if it would depart before everyone had entered or left. As I sat the train became thronged with people and sitting across from me was rough-looking ruffled-hair man wearing a ripped shirt, dirtied shorts, and hiking shoes. A symmetrical tattoo on his forehead along with countless others on his body caught the glances of the well-to-do folk on the train.
What struck me was the simple, young girl clad in boyish clothes and clogs next to him. Occasionally, he put his arm around her and spoke to her as she listened and smiled with intent with her legs up on the seat and elbows resting on her knees. Underneath each of the man’s knuckles a letter was crudely tattooed. After several discreet glances I discerned that letters were tattooed on both his hands and spelled “TRUTH HURTS.” My curiosity heightened. Why did he cover himself with such cryptic images and words? Among a crowd that was more or less the same, he stood out. Where is he going? His accentuated calves implied that he walked and traveled more than the average person.
For some reason or another, I was intrigued. After a moment, the lady next to me stood and went over to them. Undeniably she was his significant other because of her similar style of clothing, numerous tattoos, and unconventional look. As my stop neared I noticed the placidity on all their faces, the difference between the searching eyes of the other passengers and their fixed gaze. I noticed the long dark hairs growing on the young girl’s legs as she wrapped her arms around them and wondered why the mother had not shown her how to shave them, as popular society and culture does.
At that point I saw my reflection in the window. I looked down at my outfit: a grey suit, clean white dress shirt, and loafers. Before I could reflect further the train reached my stop. Off to my interview.