I’ve been staring at a homeless man over there for a while now.

His hair is messy. His clothes are filthy which is why people who walk in the area cover their noses when they passed by. He’s sitting over there, not too far from me. I’m listening to old rock music from the speakers in a store close by and slowly sipping coffee in an air-conditioned room.

The only thing that’s separate us is a glass window. It’s transparent and it acts as a barrier, so people in the store and I don’t feel as threatened. In fact, they sit and talk like they’re on another planet.

This is my favorite coffee shop. It’s right by a traffic intersection. The traffic doesn’t look bad today. Plus there aren’t any police to control the traffic, that’s why the man can sit on his plastic chair next to a police booth quietly without anyone chasing him away.

The glass window seems to be one-sided, so that means the people from the outside can’t see the inside. Sometimes there are some people who use it as a giant mirror or even check their teeth. They probably think it’s a normal mirror, at least that’s what I think because though, I come to this place all the time, I don’t seem to care about the details around the shop. It doesn’t seem worthy.

But if it’s a normal glass window, that’d mean the man is staring at me.

‘He can’t see me.’ I thought to myself and turned to look at him. There’s something off about this guy. I can feel it, I just can’t grasp it.

He looks just like any other homeless man or a man with some mental health issues that we can see around us. There are two bus stops next to this one that also has a man sitting there. There’s also one next to a jewelry store and at night, he usually put down newspaper and lay down next to a street dog. Most of the time, the owner of the store give them food, so they’re basically guards of that jewelry store.

Do these people have families? Or someone that love them? Or someone they love? I personally think that what the owner of that jewelry store does is more like pity or dependence.

I hear a song Down in the Willow Garden by Art Garfunkel in the distance. I used to play this song when I first got my guitar. This song brings me back to present. I’m still trying to find something that is off about the man, what is it?

In his black bag looks like there’s something in it… maybe a book? He can probably read or maybe he just uses it as a pillow when he lay down when he cherish the night sky. Do they count the stars? Do they know that there’ll be an election next year? Do they know that global warming is getting worse?

He has some gray hair but mostly it’s stain. Maybe he was sleeping on a bench by a bus station; then a car that passes by splashed the water on the road on him which wake him up. That’s probably why he looks so messy.

Looks like those flies love his hair though. I see him wave his hand to make them go away quite awhile, but they won’t leave, must be annoying. Would he want to wash his hair? I couldn’t even stand not washing it for a day, I usually wash it everyday since my hair produces so much oil. Sometimes I want to shave it all off, that probably make my life easier.

I look at his feet and they look so black like he was stepping on coals. He has an old flip-flop next to him, can’t make out what color it is. It looks pretty worn out, maybe it was blue? If it was newer than this about ten years, it’d doubtless as cool as Kurt Cobain. Has he ever listen to Nirvana or Pearl Jam or Modern Dog? It’s a possibility that he used to be a musician. Like if he gains some weight and gets a haircut, he could totally pull some great rocker look. He could be the next generation of Sebastian Bach or uncle Jon Bon Jovi.

Supposedly, he used to be on a stage with thousands of people and lights shining on him and his guitar while he’s singing his sadness. Would he have enough conscious to dream about that past? Or the dream already had eaten all of him?

Those hands don’t look like a musician's hands and they are shaking like there’s an earthquake going on inside him.

Hands? Both of his hands has some dark red paint on them.

Wait… that’s blood stain. Those flies weren’t there because of his hair… they are there because of that stain! That not-so-dried blood.

I look at him nervously. Should I call the police? Or maybe an ambulance? He could be hurt. Can I dial 191 for an ambulance or should I call another number?

He still sits there, staring at the glass window… maybe it’s not his blood, so I look at his bag again and I see something poking out.

Oh shit, it’s the handle of a knife. It looks like a knife that I used to use to cut fruits with my parents. Even though, it’s not as sharp but if you use enough force, it could also cut some chunk of meat.

There aren’t any rhinos or elephants in the city that would have thicker skin than other animals. What did he cut? A dog? A cat?

A person?

I stand up quickly. That man could be a murder! And he has a weapon! Right when I stand up, he did as well. Was he waiting for me? The area became a dangerous area all of the sudden. There’s a high percent chance that he will most likely break the glass and hurt me.

Who would be stupid enough to sit around and wait? Not me.

I don’t own a phone so I yelled for someone in the store to call the police, but before I could go anywhere, I crashed into something and fell so did the chair I was sitting on.

It doesn’t hurt that bad; it just feel like bumping into a wall, but then I got a little dizzy. The people on the sidewalks are looking at me and as I look up. There aren’t chairs or tables, only concrete wall in front of me. Wait… isn’t this the wall of that police booth? I turned around to see if the homeless man is still outside but he’s on the glass window instead.

I shake my head lightly. I’m wrong…

I am the one who’s outside next to the police booth.

I am the one who been staring at the glass window.

It was my hands that were covered in blood.

Whose blood is it? I don’t have a clue.

I look up to the sky and screamed as if I was standing on a stage.