The man on the subway

There was a man on the subway today. He didn’t look mad, because he was articulate in his gestures. He was trying to do something.

It was a dark man, coming south from Harlem. He did not frighten me. His eyes looked like they were somewhere else, but wherever he was, this did not seem like a frightening place to be.

He was in love with something. He was in a fever dream, not a nightmare.

He was there by himself, and none of us knew where he was. His arms and head and back were dancing, in his own seat and the empty seats next to him. His legs did not move.