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The Invisible Man of New York City

The stories in this anthology may sometimes be hard to believe. They involve many of the characters and strange occurrences I’ve seen since moving to this city. From time to time they tell stories of my travels from the city or of my childhood memories, but I assure you, they are all true, especially this one. I’ve only seen him once. Just today in fact. He was the right height. He was not short by any standard, but certainly not tall either. He was a fairly thin, older gentleman wearing a tweed hat, a patchy, graying beard, and a little less hair than he likely would have wanted. I don’t know how I knew him, but I did. He appeared to live a fairly normal life from what I could see. He did not appear to be particularly wanting for anything and he seemed quite content. That is, of course, besides the fact that he didn’t actually exist. I was on my way home one evening, passing my time by watching the passengers on the platform in the tepid, bad-tasting air of the Delancy Street station as they meandered aimlessly and spoke, usually quietly, about anything but the present. I shifted my awkward perch, leaning my back against the rail in a way to avoid crushing the contents of my bag and noticed out of the corner of my eye the invisible man. He was mid-stride. He must have noticed me because he had frozen in his hurry to cast a fleeting glimpse in my direction. I felt uneasy seeing him. An invisible man, I thought, would probably prefer to not be seen. Who was I to take that luxury from him? The train arrived promptly afterward and I boarded. Looking out the window, I noticed the man was missing. “All the better” - I thought. He was likely quite busy.

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