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“A Man Of No Importance”

A man, a veteran people watcher, wearing a gray sweater wanders the lobby during intermission looking for the unusual face, the odd outfit, the gesture which reveals character. He notices a fellow standing alone, apart from the rest of the crowd, wearing tortoise shell glasses, his red hair slicked down, deep furrows in his cheeks, eyebrows raised in sad expectation, of what he is not sure but doubts that whatever he’s expecting will happen. He holds a cup of tea. The man wonders if the fellow might be English or Irish, but is afraid to stare, afraid it will be taken as a homosexual pass. Funny, he thinks, how years ago people would simply think him rude for staring. He wonders if the man is simply alone: a visitor perhaps on business but out for the evening, maybe living in NY but not yet made friends. Maybe he is waiting for a co-worker, his wife, his girlfriend, his lover. Then the man wonders why he is interested in this fellow—his face? his clothes? No, it is his alone-ness that strikes him. Yes, he realizes, that’s it, and becomes aware that he feels an odd bond with this stranger. The man now stands alone at the edge of the lobby feeling his own keen loneliness until the chimes ring for the next act.