Homeless

Dunkin' Donuts
Just want an ice tea
Homeless disheveled woman follows me inside
Crowding me, ignoring six feet apart rule
Wants to engage, I cross my arms over my chest
Look down while some guy complains about
A tiny dog allowed inside
He turns and offers homeless lady coffee and muffin
She thanks him many times, engages with a new guy
Counter girl tells her she can't stay
Woman screams at her
It's the rules, she is told
Moments later, I see her across the street next to her pile of bags
It will rain later
Where will she go?

On the Subway

He was slumped sideways in his seat, drooling. He had a scruffy beard; tufts of unkempt hair stuck out of his black skull cap. He appeared to be semi-conscious, mumbling to himself. Frankly, he didn't smell too good.
I was about to move to another car when he said something that made me start. Shark Meat. He repeated it. I took a closer look. My God. I knew this man. I KNEW this guy.
I stood up and went over, holding my breath. Joe, I shouted. Joe, it's me, Dan. From the writers group.
He looked up, barely able to focus, and burped loudly.
Joe, what happened to you? Your novel, Shark Meat. You had an agent, a book contract. You were on your way.
Now he realized who I was. Breathing heavily, coughing, shivering, he somehow got the words out.
James Patterson, the bastard, stole my idea. My deal fell through. BASTARD!
Then he started crying. Before I could grab him, he slid to the floor and wet himself.
I collected myself, punched in 911, and stuffed a twenty into his ratty pullover jacket. I got out at the next stop.