I'm waiting for the train home when an obviously homeless man approaches me, a blanket around most of his body, his face gaunt from, well, what else? Homelessness. He tells me in a slightly struggling voice, "Jesus loves you. Jesus loves you, brother." An interesting encounter. The security guards tried to lead him away calmly but he subtly persisted until, without changing their calmness, the guards finally and gently guided him into the other direction.
I had a good time on my short vacation, but that encounter seemed to mean more to me than the good time I had. The homeless man could've approached the other people around me but he chose me. I guess it was a message I direly needed, sort of like the black guy who stopped me on the street and told me in a friendly way, "You're a gangster." I told him that I wasn't a gangster. He seemed as persistent as the homeless man. Of course, he walked away on his own power, not needing security guards.
Back to the Station: I wondered where the homeless man had wandered to. Meaningfulness never felt so good.
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The stark surreality of this is perfect. The juxtaposition of the homeless man and the the black man and their emphatic statements is challenging and enlightening. (Does this mean Jesus loves gangsters?)
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