A garbled human exclamation pierces the train behind me, loud enough to make me jump. A moment later, it happens again. It is unhappy. The sound repeats and repeats. It is like coughing and talking at the same time, and doing both badly. I turn to see. The vocalizations are coming from a person in a wheelchair. I can only see the back of his balding head. No one is acknowledging him.
Tourette's maybe? Choking?
As the man continues in this way, I get up and walk to a seat past him from where I can see if he actually needs help. He is wearing only light clothes, though the temperature is close to freezing. The clothes are old and dirty. He is shivering violently and coughing. He is a portrait of misery.
Read the whole essay at Sardines Are Only Packed Once
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