He’s bent over as he shuffles onto the skytrain like some chain-dragging ghost of Christmas past. He stands up to look for a seat. But he doesn’t stand up all the way up, he has a hump. It’d be pathetic and stirring it weren’t for his beady drug charged eyes.

He jerks his head from side to side, scanning the empty seats. He’s like a walking nightmare. Haunted and haunting, he moves about the way only a person who has fully committed themselves to drugs can move about. He focuses on a the seat that some young girl is standing by. He passes many empty seats to get there. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out his motivation.

He sits down and I smell him now. Alcohol and sweat and days-old urine. If you’ve smelled it you know the smell and you can’t forget. He smells exactly how he looks. He turns his head and stares at the young girl’s ass.

She looks at him. Disgusted. She moves away. He leans out so he can get a better look. He removes his faux leather hat that’s too small for his head, he probably picked it up and thought he looked like some kind of musician. Maybe he is, or was.

I remove my earphones, smile at the girl and then I lean forward. Looking at the ghostly and ghastly man I say “Nice tattoo,” like we’re having a conversation.

He looks at me, confused, “what?” he yells. I don’t think he knows he’s yelling.

“Nice tattoo. What is it?”

“Which one?” He holds out his arms and his sleeves pull up so I can see his other sleeves.

“All of them. What are they? I’ve never seen them before.”

“They’re covering other tattoos.”

“Ahhh, ok.” I say, like I understand. Because I think I do. He looks like the kind of guy who should cover up his older tattoos.

The door opens and the younger girl exits, she mouths thank you and smiles. I nod my head and grin.

The guy points to his cheek at another tattoo and starts talking.

I look at him, expressionless, put my earphones back in, hit play and look out the window. I’m not your friend and I don’t care, my job here is done. I don’t say that to him, but he gets the message after a few minutes.

He stares at his feet while rubbing his knuckles, each knuckle has a full square on it where letters or symbols or some combination of the two used to be. He looks exactly like the kind of asshole he is. Maybe I do too.