rivervox

I saw the Boogie Man at South Station today. He was sitting on a bench, smoking. Holding his cigarette in that particular way of his that I watched a thousand times. Wearing flipflops and shorts, legs crossed, one foot wiggling in that particular way of his. The hair, bleached blond to the color of his youth. Green eyeshadow. A blue duffle bag half full at his feet. I knew him in my lizard brain from 10 ft away, but my reason took a moment to catch up and verify. Steeling myself, walking right past him since stopping or turning at that point would have made me conspicuous. Striding past, grabbing the door handle, not breathing, not daring to look back. Were those cold blue eyes on me, the woman in the pink raincoat? No glasses. The Boogie Man is legally blind without them. Contacts perhaps?  I thought he was dead. Thought I had grown past this. He looked like a visitor. Smoking in a train station with a bag. Leaving? Arriving? Or homeless? I fled underground to catch my train home.