Bloody Hands

Brought to you by Andy Johnson:

I have a group of friends that we all used to ride the Red line to Daybreak at the same time. They are this group of chatty gals that just start talking to strangers, and when you reach your stop, you are friends. Its refreshing to find this kind of good still left in the world. Anyway, so we had become Trax friends. 

One December day last year, I get on the train and say hi to the gals, but then realize there were no seats in their section, so I sit down one row behind them. A homeless man starts talking to me since the awkward wall had broken with my 'hi". I could see days worth of urine stains on his dirty sweats and he had dried blood all over his face and hands. Wearing military fatigues and a hoodie. You could tell this guy had got in a serious bum fight. He starts telling me about his life, how he had been in the marine corps, and had been stationed in provo? Didn't know the marines had a base there. Probably a big government secret. He kept pointing his bloody fingers at my chest and saying "don't be an asshole" and pointing to himself, "I'm an asshole". He looked down at his hands and said "the blood on my hands, this is permanent." I reassuringly insisted that it could be washed off easily in the nearest public restroom. However, he was not convinced and kept insisting on shaking my hand. I resisted, but it was no use. I was getting the full contact of his and anyone elses blood on my hands. I just sat there and listened to his sad story because I knew if I sat with the gals, he would come on over and who knows what he would do or say. He asked if I was married, and I said I was, and he promptly asked if he could share my woman. There was a lot holding me back from giving this guy a fresh bloody nose. It was very sad and very funny at the same time. I got some alchohol wipes from my connecting bus and did a full detox. 

If you have stories of your own, submit them at peopleoftrax@gmail.com.