“You’re welcome.” he says quite glumly. He wears tattered clothes: a once-black-and-white striped jacket, which is now gray. He has ripped-up indigo jeans that fit him tightly. His face is pale and slightly bony. His expression is even more startling. His eyes are a astounding and dazzling emerald green that remind me of the ferns and leaves in the forest, all shining with dew.
He starts to walk away, but before he leaves just yet, I gently catch him by the arm and say, “Thank you. Do you need anything? You seem a bit...” I trail off, not knowing how to put it without sounding offensive.
His mouth opens and his voice is troubled, but controlled, “No, I am fine.” But he looks far less than fine.
“Look, here, I’ll just give you...” I take off my dull blue backpack and shuffle through everything I brought with me. Then, a hand on my shoulder stops me.
“It’s okay. I’m fine, but thank you.” he says, his voice calm, as if nothing in the world mattered, as if there were no problems. I wonder if he was actually okay, from him sounding so calm. Either New York has a lot of nice people, or it has only a few grateful people.
“Um...well okay then...uh thanks again...bye.” I stutter awkwardly.
“Goodbye.” he murmurs, a slight bit of sadness, or maybe disappointment lies in his voice. He walks away, but something is different. I feel something stirring inside me...something that hasn’t been felt in a while...I’m not sure. It’s probably nothing.