Latino Boy

I watched this Latino boy sitting on the train with me, with eyes shifting to and fro like dancing fleas in tiny jars. I stared at him with my aviators on, seeing him scramble on hands and knees to reclaim an almost empty Gatorade, which he’d dropped under a middle-aged thin man with graying hair, who spoke into bright white headphones with business lips. I wondered if it was the last of oranged alcohol swaying in that bottle, and didn’t forgive him, until I saw his large black plastic glasses I’ve seen the elderly wear, wrap his face to hide out the sun and protect his sensitive pupils due to whatever his abnormality.