“Crazy Homeless Man” Essay
“Crazy Homeless Man”
It was sophomore year of high school and after a long day of taking tests and writing essays it was finally time to go home. My cousin and I waited for and then got into our regular train. As we got in, we saw nothing out of the ordinary; you had your regular business man with too much product in his perfectly combed hair, that seemed as though he had spent hours on it, reading his newspaper while tapping his overpriced shoes on the floor, screaming little kids jumping up and down and swinging from the poles while their negligent nannies, totally oblivious of the whole scene, sit quietly reading their new editions of Harry Potter, and finally the homeless guy on the corner seat wrapped up in old newspapers and a dirty fleece, probably found while searching through some garbage, trying to get a good nap in before he has to switch trains. “Nothing different about this train ride,” we thought to ourselves as the train left the station. Shortly after we took our seats, the homeless man awoke, stood up, and started walking around looking at people and sniffing the train. Everyone looked away as though to look busy, just in case the man tried to shout out his life story and then beg for money. Instead he took an old sock out of his pocket that looked worn out, and started to clean the train doors with it. He said, “Child, this train is dirty!” He moved around the train trying not to fall or lose his balance
as he swept the floor with the old sock. He then took out an air deodorizer and started spraying it on the train walls.
My cousin and I tried so hard not to laugh. We looked away so that we weren’t tempted. Our giggles and smiles soon changed into surprised, scared, frozen expressions as the man took out a lighter and said, “I can’t take this dirty train anymore.” I knew because of my immature eighth grade friends that when someone had an
It was sophomore year of high school and after a long day of taking tests and writing essays it was finally time to go home. My cousin and I waited for and then got into our regular train. As we got in, we saw nothing out of the ordinary; you had your regular business man with too much product in his perfectly combed hair, that seemed as though he had spent hours on it, reading his newspaper while tapping his overpriced shoes on the floor, screaming little kids jumping up and down and swinging from the poles while their negligent nannies, totally oblivious of the whole scene, sit quietly reading their new editions of Harry Potter, and finally the homeless guy on the corner seat wrapped up in old newspapers and a dirty fleece, probably found while searching through some garbage, trying to get a good nap in before he has to switch trains. “Nothing different about this train ride,” we thought to ourselves as the train left the station. Shortly after we took our seats, the homeless man awoke, stood up, and started walking around looking at people and sniffing the train. Everyone looked away as though to look busy, just in case the man tried to shout out his life story and then beg for money. Instead he took an old sock out of his pocket that looked worn out, and started to clean the train doors with it. He said, “Child, this train is dirty!” He moved around the train trying not to fall or lose his balance
as he swept the floor with the old sock. He then took out an air deodorizer and started spraying it on the train walls.
My cousin and I tried so hard not to laugh. We looked away so that we weren’t tempted. Our giggles and smiles soon changed into surprised, scared, frozen expressions as the man took out a lighter and said, “I can’t take this dirty train anymore.” I knew because of my immature eighth grade friends that when someone had an