Just another sad story.

The old man sat across from me on the bus. He was about 70 years old, to my eyes, but might have well been younger. The white and very full beard that covered his thin face hid a lot of the truth, while speaking volumes of its own truth. The man slumped forward, leaned against the window and seemed to fall asleep in minutes. Forty minutes later we pulled into Grand Junction, Colorado, the sprawling city near the northwest corner of Colorado. A short layover while a late bus brought more passengers. The old man got off. I did not see where the walker came from but I did see the tube full of yellow urine snaking out from his pants and the half full bag loosely and tenuously strapped to his leg. He wore decent jeans and a button down long sleeved shirt and a baseball cap.
He seemed to be a little confused once he got off the bus. I asked him if he needed any assistance and he politely declined.
Across the street from the depot is a bronze statue of a boy hanging onto a rope, as if at a swimming hole. There is a pedestal under the statue with room enough for someone to sit. The old man walked his walker over to it and sat in the shadows. I watched him from a distance and then decided to go over and make a little attempt at conversation.
“Do you live here, if I may ask?’
“No, I don’t live anywhere. I was living in Albuquerque, but I had to get the hell out of there.”
“Ive never been there.”
“You don’t want to go there---it’s a hellhole of a place.”
He started to put on a jacket. I asked him if someone was coming for him. He said that he would have to make a call but that someone would probably get him in the morning. It was now midnight, and it was not a very good section of town.
His old arms couldn’t reach to get into the sleeves of his coat. I helped him put each arm in and straightened his collar after he said that he preferred it down.
“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” I asked, not knowing what I would do if he said that he wasn’t.
“Ill be fine”
“Okay then, take care of yourself.” I watched as he lit a cigarette. I briefly thought of making a joke about him quitting smoking. But then I realized, as I looked at the walker, and the tube with the urine bag attached, and the snot that had appeared in his mustache, and the way that he sat slumped over, that the cigarette was probably the only thing that gave him a moment’s pleasure, and I said nothing, except good night and take care.
I got back on the bus, found my seat and sat down. I looked out the window at where the old man was sitting. He was gone.