Uncertain eyes flicker over to the speaking man as he abruptly stands from his chair somewhere between Westgarth and Dennis stations. He was extremely ragged to say the least; patches of stubble begged to be shaved off his red, flustered face, he wore a grey brandless hoodie with a heavily faded design on the front, and baggy jeans that almost managed to cover the gaping holes in his brown canvas shoes. A small handful of resigned looking passengers quickly returned to their phones at the sight, having surely figured out what kind of questions were likely going to come from such a man, and the eyes that remained fixed to him were immediately filled with a palpable scepticism. He spoke, he stumbled over his words, telling the story of a broken marriage, an unsuccessful custody battle, a demanding landlord who wouldn’t take him; some of the eyes turned to pity. It was clear that he hadn’t resigned to his homeless fate like the others who frequented the train lines with their gruff voices and their permanent breaths filled with ethanol; he was hopeful, he had purpose, and he commanded the feeling of a good man who had lost his way. Or maybe he was just a great actor. Regardless, hands reached into pockets, change was passed over, and the man was on his way.