On my way down the 6 train Thursday Night I was sitting down gently wandering around inside my mind. Those different stories playing and taunting my thoughts. The problem with creativity is that there is no off button and as you get more comfortable with your surroundings, yes even New York City subway, your guard is dropped.

Then without my knowing a man entered the half full subway car, he limped over in front of where i was sitting and started his speech. It was rehearsed in the sense you could tell that he’s done it before, but sounded very sincere. He lost all of his belongings and was recovering from an accident, he purposely had his right pants pulled up. His leg had holes in the skin, about an inch deep the largest one. He held on to the metal pole as he continued to plead for clothes, food, bandages or money. Anything that could make his world just a little better. Past all his words, his muddy clothes, limp, orange beard was one other mysterious item. A mouse. A white mouse with black patches, pouching out of his shirt. The little guy was balancing inside the shirt on one of his buttons. As he spoke of his situation and with his right hand held the pole the left fingers gently pet the rodent.

He stood there without anything but a friend begging for a little help from total strangers. The tone he had wasn’t of pain or suffering but of courage. His little friend was a part of that life of his, a part of the struggle, they were in the battle together.

After the train stopped and he hopped off the young pretty girl next to me said loudly to her friend. “That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.”

I would have said: “strange,” but it was beautiful, a fallen man under the city streets with a little friend who stayed on his button and enjoyed his company. The little pet, the speeding heart, furry skin and beady eyes that get him through the day. Without a friend to confine in where would we be?