I was standing in front of Union Station waiting for a bus to take me back to Kansas City. The bus was late and a large crowd of people had gathered, just waiting. Buses bound for Michigan and Ohio had just boarded and were stopped in the street, taking up a lane of traffic and annoying the police officers trying to keep the cars flowing. Numerous people were smoking cigarettes around me. I watched a couple people around me bum cigs from others but couldn’t bring myself to do the same even though I craved one. I had passed multiple places to eat on the walk from the CTA stop to Union Station because I thought I was running late and now I was hungry. The bus was nearly an hour late. A little kid and his mom walked up next to me. The kid had a fresh bag of McDonald’s and the smell of shitty french fries intensified my hunger pangs. The kid’s mom lit up a cigarette. They stood there next to me for a while, holding two temptations. Consciousness fought physiology. The woman finished her cigarette and went inside, dragging the preoccupied kid with her.
Not long after, an old man came out those same doors onto the packed sidewalk. He moved slowly and didn’t seem to have a sense of personal space — he appeared in my peripheral vision and I sensed he was much closer to me than is reasonable in public places. I leaned away and turned my head to get a better look at him. He wore a brown coat and dark fedora. His neck was twisted away from me in a rather grotesque manner; I couldn’t see his face at all even though his body was in profile. He carried a few plastic bags and a small, tattered leather bag over his shoulder. His appearance was disheveled but not terribly so. He could have been homeless. Clearly there was no one caring for him. He shuffled in an aimless way; my awareness shifted elsewhere. I looked down the street hoping to spot my bus and thought I saw the top of it a stoplight away. I had almost finished a curse when the old man captured my attention again. He was a few meters in front of me now and facing my direction. I saw his face for the first time; his mouth was open and a long string of drool hung from its corner. I averted my eyes. He hobbled jerkily to my left. Watching a cop directing traffic, I heard a low groan coming from the direction of the old man. By the time I had turned back towards him the groan had become a hoarse, horrified screech. Murky blue eyes grew wider and I realized he was looking in my direction. The look on his face was hard to decipher. He looked startled, maybe. He dropped like a tree cut down in a forest. A thud that makes me cringe and then twitching and convulsing in the fetal position. I’m shaken but I make no sound. Two cops appear and take control of the situation, shooing a woman who approached to help. The word seizure floats through the crowd. Everyone goes back to waiting. My bus arrived just before the fire trucks and ambulance. I walked into the bus feeling like the malnourished angel of death.
