INCREASE-DECREASE

Homeless people on New York trains are as common as potholes in New York streets. And people generally treat them the same. Step over them. Go around them. Avoid them at all cost. Whenever there is a homeless person slumped down in a seat, passengers B-line to the other side of the car, usually holding their noses, air vomiting, or contorting their faces into knots of disgust. Let’s face it, homeless people smell terrible. Its pretty damn rough.

So imagine my surprise when yesterday, a child threw an all out, boneless-body tantrum when his mother wouldn’t let him sit next to the bum (sorry but “homeless person” is just so drawn out). I mean, this kid was kicking and screaming, “I wanna sit by him! Why can’t we sit over there?!” while the mother pinched her nose between two fingers and yanked his little ass down the aisle. I smiled and thought, children are amazing. That little boy saw him as the lonely outcast, who might have needed someone to talk to.

I was torn between mother knows best and the heart of a chiId, then I glanced over at the (ahem) guy, and he had his hands in his pants, picking at something. Wasn’t torn anymore. Mother knows best.

But for you little boy, I dropped a dollar in his lap.