March 22, 2009

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  One of the Thursdays when I took the Path to Jersey City for a meeting I saw a man who sat across the aisle.  The man was about mid to late fifty, looked like an Italian with medium dark skin, and some gray hair.  He wore a dark green butt length coat, perhaps Land End winter coat.  Maybe he did not shave couple days and late for a hair cut.  I thought without the stubles on his face and the wiry head, he looked like an actor who played a cop in an old cop show I forgot the name.  On his lap was a Samsonite briefcase.  As the train came near Harrison station he opened his briefcase.  The girls sat next to him stared at the content in the briefcase.  I did too.  There were thousands of rolls of lottery tickets.  He took a few rolls out, unrolled them and studied them for awhile.  I did not know whether these are the copies of the lottery tickets that were sold to customers and how he had them.  Maybe he sold lotteries for a mom and pop store, or maybe he collected the printouts, or maybe they were the lottery tickets he bought but did not win.

  There was a slogan, New York lottery, a dollar and a dream.  How many dollars did he spent for how many dreams?  A dream for a house in the suburb or just being able to move out of the slum?  A dream for having enough money to retire?  A dream for a daughter’s wedding?  A car for a son?  Send his children to college?

  He shut his briefcase.  Some slips fell out and he did not notice.  The girl sat next to him told him.  He picked them  up and put them back into the briefcase.   He got off at Penn Station and disappeared into the crowd.  I still thought about him, the man carried his dreams in a briefcase.
  

  • 5:58 pm
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