City Stories

The faceless hordes I pass on my way to and from work don't always stay that way. I try to notice people wherever I go, and sometimes a face will become familiar because the body it belongs to is on the same clockwork schedule that I am. There's Briefcase Guy, Good Morning Guy, and Hair Girl. I haven't seen Sad Shannon in a while.

My newest Jackson Street acquaintance is a guy who has an artificial arm, attached to his right elbow, that ends in a hook. The other arm is underformed, which means he's been putting up with "I'd give my right arm" jokes all his life. I do hope he's done Captain Hook at least once for Halloween, you know?

He seems like a nice guy, from what I can tell by passing him in the street. He's always pleasant-looking. But here's the thing. In his scrawny left arm, the one that I don't think has enough fingers, he's always holding one or two things. Things like books, or notepads, or... I don't know, really, I'm always just dumbfounded that this guy doesn't have a bag.

Just get a bag. You are making me worry that you're going to drop your book(s) on the street and have to pick them up with your hook and kind-of-arm. Just get a bag.