Dirty, uneducated and poorly mannered flashes across my mind as a man in torn jeans and scratched up jean jacket sits down in the alcove beside me. I stun myself with how judgemental I can be. He hunkers down on the bare floor and grunts with approval. He had barrelled his way through numerous other standees on the train in search of his seat. Sitting down, he's constantly moving, it's putting me on edge as well. I try and will him to slow down but mind over matter does not seem to work here. He pivots suddenly and elbows the book I'm reading and apologises. I mumble his apology away, "no probs..". He speaks clearly with the slight drawl of someone who doesn't worry about their presentation but not the alcoholic's slur. I bury myself in my book. More rustling and shifting disturb and I notice he's now rolling a new cigarette from the tobacco of roaches he had found on the street. I appreciate his resourcefulness and suddenly empathize with his little vice though I don't smoke. I finally feel at that point then that everyone is entitled to a good life as they are just like me. I've often said it but reason does not always equate to wholehearted feeling. Individual value in this society seems a strange thing where most will fare decently while others, marginalized, sometimes seems to be quietly shuffled into slums and repainted as another species. My irritation melts and replaced with curiosity, I'd like to ask him questions on how he lives or what he thinks life is and what is important. Rolled cigarette finished, he carries it in his mouth. I worry for a moment that he may light it. He doesn't and disembarks at the next stop.