Happiness, or something like it.

Over the rails, me and the homeless man been traveling in laps the whole night. Stop go. Stop go.

His face is round. It doesn't look homeless. He sits in the plastic subway seat in peace. Over the fuzz of his beard a few bread crumbs bounce along. I am so hungry that I want to eat them.

And he tells me get a grip on yourself man. Get a goddamn grip. So I grip myself and grip on to the seat and we keep bouncing and keep lapping and lapping the city.

And somewhere he tells me drink my poison. And I take a gulp and somewhere inside a ball of warmth rolls down through my toes. And somewhere a Dire Straits song comes on. And somewhere. I'm somewhere. There, there.

This is love and its ending one stop at a time.
This is happiness.

Or something like it.