What do you see?

Sitting uncomfortably in a metal chair waiting for the arrival of my mother,
I watched the crowds of afternoon students walk to their cars, leaving the school for the day; whereas, the evening students began to file in. I am 1 in 1,000, you are 1 in 1,000...who do I see? Looking is not the same as seeing. You can look at many things, and never see them. Look at a man, but see your lover. Look at a woman but see your mother. Look at a child, but see yourself.

Depending on what you feel, depending on what type of person you are, can affect what you see in others.

It's funny, when you are out of love...how many relationship you recognize around you....seems like everyone has someone, when you are alone.

But then again it just goes to show how things relate from one individual to another....what I perceive can and is wildly different from what you perceive.

Perceptions are merely that...perceptions.

So how can I make assumptions on appearance...the one thing mother told me not to do.
"Never judge a book by it's cover!" well here I go trying to do just that.

I see one man...he is older...must be in his seventies...waiting patiently for the change over in buses...he is a black man...dressed in a tweed suite, a red bowtie, and a bowler hat...the cuff of his pants pulled up showing the dark brown socks and shinned shoes...What did this man see in his life time? His age will tell some tale of wear in the history of men. The cival rights movement...most likely he would have seen just about everything from the depression to the vietnam war...Knowledge untapped by others, this man would tell you secretes if only you asked for his story, what a story that might be...he could have been in the room where Robert Kennedy was shot, or at the opening of the cotton club, He could tell you exactly where he was when the speech "I have a dream" was spoken, and how Martain Luther King affected his life, he could tell you how it felt to shake his hand...the pain from loosing a son...and most likely a wife...but yet he holds in his hand a small set of keys...looks like a small key chain...a picture....his grandchildren...maybe he is on his way to see them.....why would they make him take the bus? A surprise....a daily commute? The wrinkles in his face...show so many smiles...he is a happy man, or was a happy man. His hands are worn from years of work...I see calouses on the tips of his fingers...he plays guitar or bass...a musican. A pin on his lapel...Mets...A New Yorker...The bus finally comes, and with the dignaty only aged men pocess, he boards the bus. A wink in my direction....He noticed I was watching him.