It’s such a shame there are so many homeless populating the streets of NYC- well, for them. I look at it as free entertainment while I wait for my late-night train home. While the masturbating Chinese she-he with pigtails and red scrunchies entertains the N line and the toothless, pole-dancing, old black man entertains the W, my heart belongs to another. It was a warm summer night and I was exhausted and patiently waiting for the train.

Too sleepy to read and too drunk to stand, I found the bench and got as comfortable as a smelly, wooden seat allows. The station was empty except for one- and because I have a staring problem that I am not willing to overcome, I blatantly gawked at the dirty, dirty old man heading my way. Expecting a simple walk-by, I was enthralled when the gentleman’s saunter promptly accelerated to a sprint. Thinking this was the apex of tonight’s show, (it is amusing enough to see a homeless man run his fastest across the platform), my eyes widened in awe as Man left the ground and gracefully flew through the air. Half gazelle, half karate kid, Homeless (his new name) reached an unbelievable height and with a screech, (“HIIIIIIIII-YA!!”), his protruding foot collided with the hanging ‘Exit” sign suspended from the ceiling. I think he even winked at me in the air while we held eye contact.

Don’t get me wrong- particularly trained in classical dance and fully equipped with a high-kick that could knock Godzilla off his rocker, I am not threatened by the dangers of the night. But, I immediately looked away- we were getting too intimate too soon. “YOU KNOWS WHOS YOU LOOK LIKE, GURL?” I didn’t look up in response, I couldn’t. “HEY! GURL! YOU KNOWS WHOS YOU LOOK LIKE?” He suddenly was directly in front of me. My eyes slowly lifted to reach his gaze and my heart quickened. “Please tell me,” I squeaked out. “MARY POPPINS! YOUS EVA HEARD THAT?! YOUS LOOK LIKE MARY PAUUUUUUPPINS!” I had never heard that, possibly because I look absolutely nothing like Mary Poppins. I shook my head ‘no.’ “WELL. DAS GOOD TO LOOK LIKE MUAARY, BECAUSE SHES KNOWN. YOU KNOW?! SHES KNOWN!” (I did not know, I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about).

Before I could speak again, Homeless was gracefully lowering himself to one knee. Positioned for a marriage proposal, his eyes softened and he reached both arms over his head and into the backpack he was wearing. Like a knight with his sword, Homeless slowly and elegantly lifted an item out of the bag and over himself. With a bowed head and a gentleness only a real man could possess, he appropriately placed a closed umbrella into my open hands. “This is for you, Mary,” he sensually whispered. As quickly as he had arrived, he was gone. I held my gift delicately, unsure of what to do next. An Indian man who had apparently joined me on the backside of the bench while I was busy with Homeless offered his advice, “I would put that down.” I did not put it down. As the train arrived and the roar of the engine filled the station, I opened my new umbrella. Despite the fact that the top piece flung off and smacked me in the face, consequently flinging my glasses across the concrete- I smiled with content. He had me at ‘HI-YA.’