My Monologue

There was this guy that came into work the other day,he had the biggest, most guenuine smile, behind it his eyes were tired, sad, older somehow.
He asked me about my day, used my name. Most people don't use my name, they forget I'm a real person.
I'd seen him a few times, he was always the same.
He wobbled when he walked, swaying on his feet.
I always thought he had an accent, or maybe a cold. The way he talked, the way each word slurred into the other, people always get colds in winter, it makes sense, I guess.
He told me about the tattoo he was going to get, it was going to be a pink and blue octopus, between the other tattoos snaking around the back of his arm, and the scabs and scars on the inside of his elbow.
That was the moment my perfect little world crashed in around me.
He wobbled to a table, ate his food and drank one of his beers, pulled out a packet of cigarettes and put one on the table, to have later.
His eyes were glazed over, dull, lifeless.
I'd seen him around before, so many times before, I never noticed.
It made me wonder what else in life I turned a blind, naiive eye to.
Every person walking down the street has their own story, their own fears, triumphs, insecurities. They have a name, a family, a life. And we walk straight past them, never noticing, never caring...
I have finally opened my eyes, and I am looking at the world anew...