Homeless Is Where The Heart Is

(I have had a sudden allergic reaction, but since my partner is at work and we only have one car, I have to take the train to go to my regular doctor. I look like I’ve been stung or punched, I feel feverish, and I can’t stop itching. I start to cry slightly out of frustration and pain. A clearly homeless man gets on.)

Man: “Miss? Miss? Are you all right?”

(I shake my head, still crying. The man pulls out a bag of stuff that shelters commonly give out, including tissues and wipes.)

Man: “Are you sick, miss? Do you need a tissue? Don’t cry!”

Me: *sniffling* “Thanks… I’m on my way to the doctor’s, actually. I’m having an allergic reaction plus a bad fever.” *the man hands me a small pack of tissues*

Man: “Do you know how to get there? I could get off and help you.”

Me: “No, it’s okay. I know the way.”

Man: “Are you sure?”

(I thanked him and got off at the next stop. No one else even noticed me, but he had!)