Morning Commute

“The next stop will be 79th street. Doors open on the left at 79th street. Standing passengers, for your safety please do not lean against the doors,” the invisible automated male voice spoke. Amongst the silent colorful shades of brown faces staring aimlessly at the traffic flow outside the train windows, a middle aged man stumbles into their commute. His unshaven face is dark and tight, a sign of hard living unmatched by the warmth of his brown eyes. The red baseball cap covering his bald head reads in white letter’s “Guaranteed Before You Leave” an unfamiliar declaration unmatched by the common daily pleas for loose squares, CD’s, DVD’s, bible-thumpers and loose changers that permeate the trains. Regardless of the length of the commute, count on a less than desirable stranger asking for, or selling an item that they feel you cannot live without. Unseen by the “I don’t want to go to work today, so please don’t say anything to me” colorful crowd is his mobile office paired with his supportive obliging wife of ten long years. Marcus’ shirt matched his hat, a bright logo of a white stove with two small pots spilling with what could be soup or stew on top of a silver speeding train, highlighted by his slogan. “Hmmm, never seen this before,” says the young teenager with her cell phone attached to her heavily pierced ear. She’s on her way to school, in her common uniform, blue pants and a white shirt which she has paired with her fur-trimmed boots and jacket. “Girl I’m gon’ call you back!” she says to her invisible phone friend. She pulls down her black and gold “Baby Phat” hoodie revealing a head full of shoulder length multicolored micro braids and a face that screams young and inexperienced by her bare eyes and glossy sparkly full lips.
Quickly Marcus gives his story, his time on the trains taught him to be honest with the public and no gimmicks or sob stories. With cold dry hands, lifted in the fluorescent-lit air, “Good morning everyone, we don’t mean no harm, just want to give you something warm. Flapjacks to Applejacks, eggs to toasted bread, guaranteed before you leave. Now folks, I’m no crook or ex-addict. I’m a husband and father of three. I’ve been to school and hopes to one day open my own place. My wife and I simply want to feed the streets with good quick eats. We’ve got it all and we make it good. For four-dollars we cook and you eat and like I said, we guarantee your food before you leave.” Marcus catches the attention of young urban professional man with dark Chanel shades sitting by the door and leans into him, careful not to open the portable oven strategically strapped to his back.
“Sir what will you be having today?”
The young man removes his shades showing his bright brown eyes, “You got any fresh fruit sir?”
“Sure young blood, anything else?”
“Perhaps your business card if you’ve got one.”
Angie, Marcus’ wife, who doesn’t look old enough to drive, is visibly smaller than her full size husband, leans over to pull out the fruit. She’s also wearing the red hat and shirt that her husband/business partner is wearing. She leans her petite body down reaching inside a side pocket on their oversized gym bag grabbing a sticker with their logo and contact info slapping it across the bag of fresh green grapes, red apples and oranges handing it up to her husband before tying it closed. Marcus hands the mesh bag to their first customer in exchange for a crisp ten-dollar bill.
“Thank you. Angie get this man his change.”
“Sure thing, honey.”

An elderly lady sitting across from the young man, peers over her reading glasses and watches the transaction waiting for some sign that this is just another person trying to hustle people out of their money. She is on her way to work and every morning there are people mostly men, selling things that she deems are a way to support a habit. Most days she is right, but this man seemed different. She decided to give him a try. She looked up at Marcus, “Uuhm, excuse me sir, do you have any toast?”
“Yes mam, white or wheat, butter or jelly, grape or strawberry?”
“Wheat with grape jelly hold the butter.” She says back.
As if speaking into a speaker at the back of a noisy diner, Marcus tells Angie the order and makes eye contact with the other passengers, to see if anyone else will want anything. He’s learned many things on the train, and one of those lessons taught him to multi-task. In the morning people are pure skeptics and they have to make decisions all day and the last thing they need in the morning, is another person asking for something or suggesting they think about where they will spend eternity. Quickly Angie hands Marcus a square Styrofoam box with two thick slices of wheat bread and a pat of jelly in the smaller inside square. Marcus hands it over to the lady; she gives him a five dollar bill and tells him, “Keep the change.” Marcus tells her “Thank you mam, it means a lot.” There was something different about Marcus, his hands were clean, his voice was clear and his eyes, there was something about his eyes that spoke a different story.