The Person I'm Next To Is A Child And Thats Weird

I'm next to this kid. He has a red t-shirt on and mesh blue shorts. He has an mac laptop in front of him, but it is closed and he is playing handheld video game. He is slouched in that way that kids slouch. He is chubby in that way that children are chubby. He is a pretty normal kid.
But he is alone, there are no other kids here, just a whole bunch of adults. None of them seem to be his parents, or if they are they are so caught up in everything else that they may as well not be. Maybe he is lost? Maybe he is divorced from his parents? Maybe he is a test tube baby? Maybe he is a super genius child raised in a government laboratory and this is his escape? Maybe he is a bizarre alien parasite using this child as a host and the video game is actually a control for a doomsday device that spells the end of human kind as we know it.
Oh wait there is his mom, she was knitting in the corner.

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The Person I'm Next To Has Caused Me To Explode With Self Hate

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The Person I am Next to is Saving Over 3 Hours Annually

I am next to this guy. He is weathering a heathered purple tee, fitted tan jeans, and gray canvas shoes. He has a scruffy beard, big headphones, and expressive eyebrows. Eyebrows that just gave me a condescending waggle. This waggle is, presumably, referencing my use of sidewalks. We are in a park, and in the fashion of most public greens, the sidewalks are meandering devices, more concerned with rose smelling than pedestrian efficiency. But, Tan Jeans is unconvinced by their suggestion of an idle pace. Our paths cross as he enters the park. We seem to be headed in the same direction. I am bound by these fascist sidewalks, this intrepid son of Magellan has plotted a new course. A straight fucking line. This is where he shoots me that patronizing look. Then, he boldly steps from concrete. Shocked and cowed by the genius of his revolutionary trailblazing, I sheepishly fall behind his blistering pace, herded along a preset path. He reaches the edge of the pa...

The People I'm Next to are a Baldness Gradient

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The Person I’m Next To Unexpectedly Resorted to Brutality

I’m next to this man. His look suggests mildness. He has sandy hair just short enough to stick straight out, giving his head a great blurry halo. His facial features are similarly rounded with all gentle curves. He is the type of guy that would be very easy to imagine as a stuffed animal version of himself. When I first see him, he is standing in front of an automatic paper towel dispenser in a coffee shop. He has a tablet in one hand, and a coffee mug in the other. He looks at a nearby counter, which is a bit wet, then back at his tablet. After a few seconds of consternation, he realizes he can spare his electronics and just set down the coffee. He chuckles at his indecision, then looks over at me with an expression that says ‘oh silly me’. I reply with a nod that says, ‘I-recognize-your-former-dilemma-and-I-applaud-your-decision-but-can-we-maybe-get-this-towel-train-moving-my-own-mug-has-some-coffee-spilling-down-its-side-and-I’d like-to-handle-it’. He ...

The Person I'm Next To Is One With His Tamale

I'm next to this guy who is sitting in front of a styrofoam plate of tamales, under the coiled Christmas lights of a food truck's tent. He's here by himself, aside from the four tamale friends that he has briefly found. He's "not a small man," which is my polite way of saying that he is quite fat. He's shaped like a wide diamond. Aside from the protrusions you would expect from him being both human and male, he'd form a pretty good triangle if you folded him hamburger style. But this is about tamales, not hamburgers. He is eating his tamales slowly with the care and grace of someone basking in a rare moment of transcendence. There's a hint of something else, too--as if he's taking care to avoid a catastrophic misstep. The mix is about four parts "that feeling of slowly lowering yourself into a perfect bath," one part "action hero figuring out the color scheme of timebomb wires." After each bite, he closes his eyes and quietl...

The Person I’m Next to Might Own a Battle Axe

I’m next to this probable berserker. This behemoth is well over 6 and a half feet tall, and densely built. He is made up of these big slabs of muscle that might be defined, but I can’t tell because his body hair is also quite dense. Given the height, the musculature, and the excessive body hair, I’d say he weighs roughly the same as my Honda. As you might have guessed, he has declined to put on a shirt this morning in order to beat the heat. Or perhaps, he had to brace himself under a portcullis to stop it from closing, and the ensuing bulge of his deltoids and pectorals resulted in the puny garment splitting at the seams. Who knows? His only wardrobe concessions to modernity are mesh shorts and some well-used sneakers. So yes, he might just be a fit guy out for a run. To my eye though that seems unlikely. I am a little nervous. He is running right at me. His gigantic form is surprisingly graceful. The iron thews of his legs granting him dexterity as well ...

The Person I am Next To is More Apologetic than is Necessary

I’m next to this smoker. He is nondescript, and only my own habit pushes me to note his look. He comes in a bit under six feet and is of a medium build. He has a pair of khakis, and a grayish-green and a tie with a checked pattern on it. As I pass, he briefly and deliberately locks gazes with me. His unsurprisingly brown eyes crinkle a bit at the corners as he presses his lips together in a thin smile. He gestures with his cigarette, and I realize he is apologizing. I awkwardly shrug at him, hoping I am absolving him on any secondhand sin. Glancing back a few moments later, I catch him turning his head and politely blowing a thin stream of smoke to the side, despite the fact we are entirely alone on this street. There is something strangely sad about this kind-hearted, if useless, gesture. Here this guy is, risking life and lung for a five-minute chemical respite from his worries. Yet, this very practice seems to carry some sort of stress. How much does his concern ov...

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