Orchestral music was playing over the
speaker, as Gerald looked down at his
feet. Through the talking and moving, you
could only catch pieces here and there.
It might not even be music. He looked down
at his Converse. Stared into space and
twirled that little string that hung out
from where the heel had worn through. He
always had a habit of twirling that same
piece of string. He turned and looked out
the window as the train emerged from the
dark tunnel it had been coasting through.
He looked out and saw a couch lying in
the ditch coming beside his window. How
odd Gerald thought. It doesn't seem at
place where it was, yet the wear and
tear, the rain-soaked armrests and
missing cushion promised it had been
there for a while. Someday someone
would come and take it in a grand scheme
to clean the great city. To rid it of
trash. Yet, more likely, just move it
out of the rich peoples eyes. Gerald
felt like that couch. Oddly trying to
feel at home in a place he should not
be, and wasn't wanted.
The train slowed. Gerald got up
in contemplation, and hazily headed for
the long silver pole to brace him. This
was his stop. Dorrian Street. He got
off the train as people started boarding.
There were always more people going to
the poor side than the rich side this
time of night. He entered the herd and
corralled his way up the steps with the
others. At the top he smelled the
desolation of his neighborhood.
Spare change...spare change?" a man
stood near the exit droned He hoped to
get the working class when they returned.
Gerald walked past him and said "sorry".
Three blocks down the road Gerald passed
the church he saw every day. It was his
signal to turn right. On the corner sat
a homeless man huddled in his jacket.
Gerald reached in his pocket and produced
a small amount of change. He dropped it
into the man's deteriorating coffee cup,
and turned right.
***END OF PART SEVEN***