I am sitting on the train to Frankfurt. There is an old man opposite of me. He looks very messy and unclean. He has a really big belly and grey sweatpants. His scrotum seems michelangelesque, if Michelangelo's David was some trailer trash, beaten down, obese, old man. Meaning, it is very visible underneath the fabric. That is why I noticed. Nothing else. I also notice his balls are on his far right, both of them, while his penis is on the far left. Almost as if completely separated from one another. Almost as if he chopped them up in a fit of male-like rage and then, after regretting that impulse, hastily put them back together. But you can always tell when something was once broken. The vein in his forehead is throbbing, probably because it takes everything of him to keep his half-closed eyes opened, and the vein knows it. Even the vein is sick of his crap. It betrays him. It wants to break free. But who in the right mind would adopt this vein?


The morning Sun makes some of his left-over grey hair turn into cheap gold. Next to him is a wheelchair with a suitcase in it. Tied to the suitcase is something resembling a rolled-up, baby-blue mat, a red drugstore bag and another shopping REWE bag. Behind the REWE shopping bag is, behold (!) one more shopping bag. This one is black from woolsworth. On top of the bag is a green bike chain.


His baggage looked palestinian.

It looked messy.

And dirty.

And sad.

And angry.

And hopeless.


The conductor passed and asks the man if he found the assigned seat well. The man does not respond but is obviously aware of being spoken to. The conductor now asks the man the same question again to which the other responds with: "well, i am on the train, arent i?" It seemed like a logical reply. Its obvious the conductor meant it in a nice, friendly way. Sort of like asking him if everything is alright. It would have been better if he just said it like that. Makes more sense. Nevertheless, the first lacks decent semantics and the latter just common decency.


As the conductor is going away, he mumbles loudly how he was just trying to be nice and friendly. The old man mumbles what a stupid question that was, to which I give him right.  As we are riding, my mind is magnetically drawn to his baggage. My eyes are searching

for it. I keep fighting the urge to stare at it. Unfortunately, as with such strong urges, after being fought, they turn into an obsession. Suddenly i start imagining him preparing for this trip. I dont know where he is going, but something tells me he packed everything except the kitchen sink (not often do I get a chance to use this idiom). No; he packed everything including the kitchen sink.


The old man woke up at 4.30.


What is my saddness´nationality?

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