Ad-libbing a conversation I had with a friend:

He says, "I think the most painful stories are the ones that go unknown.


"I was on the streetcar the other night, and I looked out the window and I saw this crazy lady just standing on the sidewalk crying her eyes out. She was definitely homeless and definitely crazy, and here she was, standing alone, hysterical and crying her eyes out.


"I watched her and asked myself, 'Who is this lady? What's her story? Did she use to be rich? Was she pretty when she was young? Did she have it all, once? How did she get here? Why is she crying?' And I wanted to know all these things. And I realized how I wouldn't. Or how likely no one would ever know her story. She didn't look like she had anyone or any means to tell. She was homeless and she was crazy."


At this point he became quiet and I push him to continue, "Then..?" I ask.


"Then nothing," he says, shrugging. "Then my eyes welled up and the streetcar started forward and I'll never see this lady again."


At this point, I became the one who was quiet. After a while, he catches my eye and asks, "What are you doing?"


"What?" I say, feeling strangely vulnerable, like I was caught doing something I shouldn't have.


"What are you doing?" he presses me.


"Listening," I reply.


"Don't," he says.


"Don't what?"


"Don't fall inlove with me," he says with a smirk.