It’s early morning on the skytrain. The usual crowd is here. Dressed in the usual attire. Having the usual conversations. Doing the usual thing. Everything is so painfully usual it’s basically asking for something to happen.

That’s when something entered the train.

Something is somewhere over six feet tall. He’s very thin. In a sickly way. He’s hunched over a bit, probably collapsing under the weight of the world. Or at the very least, the weight of whatever world he’s living in. He smells how guys who look like him smell, urine and sweat and street life.

He surveys the crowd and then yells as loud as he can in a sing song voice that tells me his career is going nowhere, he has a slight south Asian accent: “I’ve got twenty bucks in my pocket!”

He laughs. Everyone is pretending not to notice him. As if they can turn their eyes and he won’t exist anymore. He refuses their refusal of his existence.

“I’m joking. Just joking. Do I look like I have twenty bucks?!” He laughs. I laugh. A couple guys laugh. Everyone else keeps looking away. He sits down and studies everyone else.

After a minute of quiet he yells “Ziggy Ziggy Ziggy! Can’t you see!” Then he claps his hands and dances with his shoulders. His dancing is as good as his singing.

He gives up and looks out the window. The herd takes a breath after they sigh their relief. But it’s too early for relief.

As if reading the crowd he jumps up and startles the few people directly beside him: “We are in Vancouver everyone!” He yells. He claps. A few more of us can’t help laughing. A few others seem terrified.

The doors open at the next stop and he claps: “Lets go Canucks, let’s go! Let’s go Canucks, let’s go!” He adds in a woo-ooooo for good measure and leaves.

He was the happiest one on the train and now he’s gone.

The place feels miserable.