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I exited my vehicle, still feeling self-conscious that I wasn't wearing anything real baggy to cover up my form. I was pretty insecure about how I looked and that was reflected in my wardrobe. However, I had made great strides to be more self-confident about myself. I guess what I wore today was a testament to that. Closing the car door behind me, I pressed the lock button on my set of keys. There was a short beep and flash of lights as the Chevy responded to my action. I left the parking lot and wandered inside the station.

The bustling noises and the flurry of movements inside the building made my stomach lurch. I didn't know why I had this brilliant idea to go there in the first place. It was not like I really had a motivation to be there, but for some reason I felt I had to be there. All of a sudden, there was a movement to my left, and I found myself shrinking against the wall as a group of men in what looked like expensive Italian suits pushed past me. It only made me feel like an outsider, and I was pretty sure that I stuck out like a sore thumb.

All the bright lights and the noises irritated me. I was positive that my blurred vision was an early sign for an oncoming migraine. I should have never came. I should have never set foot in this building. But, there I was, trapped in that god-forsaken place. I sighed, looking towards the exit. It was packed — filled with bodies of sweating, burly men with suitcases. There was no way I could leave here.

I might as well make the best of this I guess, I thought, shifting my gaze away from the exit. It's not like I ditch this place right away.

As my eyes wandered across the platform, I couldn't help but notice a raggedy old man sitting on a bench a few feet away. It looked like he was muttering something under his breath as he watched people pass before him. His hands were clasped in front of his stomach, and he wore a chestnut colored sweater that highlighted the color of his greying, mangled hair. Something seemed to draw my gaze towards him as I found myself taking a few steps closer.

Why am I walking closer? He's just another beggar. Another one of those strange types.

"Apple," he said, watching a man walk past him, "banana, orange, pear."

There was a brief pause after that statement as he looked doward at his feet. His floppy hair obscured his face, and for a moment I thought that he probably had died after his rather strange proclamation. I was mentally preparing myself to dial 911 when he suddenly jumped up from his position. His obsidian colored eyes lit up as he noticed a burly woman walking past him.

"Pig! Chicken!" He screamed triumphantly from his seated position.

I was slightly startled by the enthusiasm and vigor that he had when he uttered those two words. Moreover, I was starting to feel concerned about the man yelling strange things into the crowd. I understood that he was begging for money by looking at the tin cup at his side, but I didn't think that his current act was going to get him any.

"Honey," said the man, looking at another passersby.

This guy needs to go to a mental hospital, I thought, watching him insult a few more people.

I wondered if he had Tourette's syndrome or some other mental disorder. If he did, that probably explained his strange outbursts. It wasn't my issue though. I didn't have to be concerned about what that man said. But nonetheless, I found myself further intrigued by the beggar sitting on the bench a few feet away. However, my attention was soon diverted from the man as I noticed one of my classmates from high school entering the station. It was Alexis, my old lab partner from Advanced Chemistry.

"Human," said the man looking at Alexis as she passed by him.

Well at least he got one thing right, I thought to myself as I watched Alexis walk closer.

Alexis grinned, flashing her pearly white teeth. Her eyes lit up behind her spectacles as she reached out her arms. I just stood there, awkward about the situation. I wasn't much of a touchy person myself, and I didn't really enjoy much physical contact with anyone. I liked my personal space. I liked not being touched.

However, Alexis never got that memo from me. The scent of her perfume wafted towards me as she took another step. Soon, I was engulfed in another one of her infamous bear hugs. I stood still, unsure if I wanted to reciprocate the gesture. It seemed like forever before she finally released me. She still had a goofy grin plastered on her face.

"Hey," I said awkwardly, unsure how to start our conversation.

"Hey Emily," grinned Alexis, "how've you been? It's been ages since I've seen you."

I smiled weakly, noticing that Alexis was a lot taller and skinnier than before. In high school she was always bullied for her weight and dorky appearance. We both never really fit in and often were shoved in lockers right next to each other. I guess getting shoved into an enclosed space while being claustrophobic was a way to get to know another person. After a few of those experiences in middle school, we became fast friends. It was astonishing how close we became in a short period of time.

We'd often study together and hang out at libraries and parks, in our spare time. Often we'd study until the late hours of the night or stay up all night discussing various topics that interested us. Her ravishing intellect was unmatched, and I was certain that she was destined for great things. I felt like a second-rate student in comparison to her, although I obtained high marks myself.

It was kind of sad that we had drifted apart in college. But it was a given since she wanted to be a surgeon, and I wanted to become an engineer. She ended up attending one of those high achieving Ivy League colleges on the west coast while I was stuck in a modest state school near my hometown. I only knew this because I Facebook stalked her recently. It wasn't something that I was overly proud of, but it happened.

I guess fate had a way of bringing people together again. Shortly after I had Facebook stalked her, she had reached out to me about connecting again. I, of course, felt obliged to meet up with her. So, we did. It wasn't anything real fancy, probably some wine and steaks at her house. It was there that I had learned a few things about her.

Apparently she was married a few times. Four times to be exact. But, each marriage was apparently short-lived since they all died around a year or two after they married. I felt bad for the poor girl, and I was curious about how they died. However, as soon as I popped the question, her face turned stone cold. Her guarded expression made me instantly regret my decision to ask her. The only curt response I got from her was that it was because they were older men.

I never asked her that question again. I knew better than to pry in her personal life. I didn't know how to respond back to her when she told me, so I kept quiet. It was awkward for the rest of dinner, and I felt kind of bad when I slinked off back to my house that night. We probably left on bad terms, and I wanted to remedy that.

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