With his fists clenched, his brow furrowed, he looks like he's about to start a fight - sounds like it, too, haranguing the people standing at the platform's edge as they wait for the train. He's wearing camouflage pants with a backpack to match that he's leaned up against the pillar, with his dark skin set off by the light sweatshirt he's wearing and the gray in his coarse hair.
Normally I ignore such folks (don't want to draw crazy's attention, their laser focus of malevolence or fear) but I realize that somebody could be in danger here, and so I section off a little piece of my attention in case I might need to intervene.
Until I listen to his words, and realize he's talking about Jesus, and hellfire, and salvation, and then it all falls into place, and I leave him to his ranting, and return to my book.
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