Duck Sauce on the F Train

Today I went to Yoga for the People with my Roommate and had a very relaxing, if not challenging, class. On our way back riding on the F train a homeless man got in the car with us. He was one of those guys you watch warily out of the corner of your eye, hoping he doesn't start randomly talking to you or worse, just sit and stare your way. He sat the whole subway ride taking everything out of his pockets, examining every item and replacing them, going back time and time again to a silver key on a worn black shoelace. One of the things he lost from his pocket was a little crumpled packet of duck sauce. It slipped from his lap onto the subway floor and stayed there. He got off a few stops before us, but his little packet stayed behind: a tired little reminder of who had been there. I watched that little package the rest of the ride, wondering who he was and what his story was. It was only when i was about to get off the car that i realized we were the only people who knew where that duck sauce had come from and what kind of person had lost it. It made me a little bit sad...