I met a stranger today
when I was out walking
it seemed odd to me
that he would be walking too
it was a late night walk
or more accurately
due to the hour
an early morning walk
it was after all
a quarter after 3
that oddity must be why I remember him so clearly
after all
how many strangers must I pass daily
without noticing
our paths crossed
at an intersection between 6th and 3rd street
actually
I believe that 3rd is actually an avenue
although I don't really know the difference
between an avenue and a road
after all
they are simply concrete
or in the case of 3rd
blacktop
which is tar I think
I oftentimes simply smile and walk away
without trying to notice my passerby's
because what their significance has on my life
is close to none
no
it is none
but other than his strange choice in walking hours
something else caught my eye
or attention
in the case of the time
he had a scratch on his knee
{(I should've mentioned before, he was wearing shorts) and a t-shirt}
but the scratch must have been fresh
because it was bleeding
a thin line of scarlet
trickling down his leg
it must have been a light scrape
for he didn't seem to be bothered by the inconvenient blood running down his leg
like an itch you learn to co-exist with
because acknowledging it
would only give it a sort of sense of ego
building up the spirit in itself
we exchanged friendly smiles
and went on our ways
but as he brushed past me
his leg rubbed against my pants
and the blood found a new route on my jeans
however it soon found out that it was a dead end
for it stopped and spread out
like a body of water
a gulf
originating from a river
finally arriving to its destination
and while relaxing
spreads its arms out
and exhales a sigh of relief and comfort
knowing its journey has ended
and it has finally reached its destination
and so the blood as well rested easy on my jeans
not enough to soak through my thick denim
but just enough that its warmth
carried to my leg
and a shiver went up my spine
some would find this blood transfer to be disgusting
and immediately run home to bleach it off
wash one's hands of this stain
but I found the exchange
or (since I did not have anything to offer in return) gift
to be queer
but kind
a souvenir
or rembrance of our chance encounter
at 3:16 am
a symbol that it was indeed true
that the stain on my jeans
will forever remind me of our meeting
so that none can doubt me
for if they do
my jeans will speak for me
a sort of show and tell
I will never try to wash out the blood
for it will not come off
and for this I am grateful
for not so often
do we find ourselves in this situation
where oddities
and strange encounters
have a physical
and lasting impact on us
where we can say
"see! I have proof!"
where we can look back
not only in thoughts and memories
but in physicalities
and prove to ourselves
that against all odds
it did happen
