Money Doesn’t Talk

Heading down into the BART tonight, a few minutes to spare before my train arrived, reached for a handful of misc newspaper fragments in the recycle bin next to the turnstile, as usual. A man was standing on the other side of the bin with a dirty sweatshirt, long reddish ZZ Top beard, sparkling blue eyes. Possibly homeless. I passed over a few uninteresting bits (sports section, this morning’s headlines), and picked up the business section, just to see what’s shakin’. The man suddenly looked up, gazed sincerely and peacefully into my eyes, and spoke:

“Dylan said, ‘Money doesn’t talk, it swears.'”

Something about him seemed so gentle and kind and understanding, I didn’t feel any response was necessary. Strange but comforting to hold a stranger’s gaze longer than the socially normalized timeslice. He knew I understood what he meant. Wished that life was made of more of these moments.

Music: Ramones :: Teenage Lobotomy

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