really, only human

He clasps his wrinkled hands together, and bows down in prayer.

"God above, please let today be a good day. Let me make ends meet so I may be on my way. Please, and Thank You."

He looks up and glances around.

"Nobody," he muses. Everyone's walking too fast. The clapping of their footwear against the ground sends invisible specks of dust in the air. The ground where he sits is in a constant invisible swirl of dust.

He stares ahead, at the glass walls of the Bedok MRT Station. "It's almost like another world in there; one where people walk fast, talk fast, think fast, and live way too fast."

He grows tired and simply let his sight land on the illegal taxis that frequently stop by the edge of the busy bus stop to pick up commuters looking for a convenient ride just outside the MRT Station.

A youthful teenage punk decked in the latest Amy Winehouse inspired assemble barely even looks his way. Indeed, he is almost a common feature along this busy pathway.

He bows down to pray once more. The people walking past, some hesitate an almost imperceptible moment to glance at this pot-bellied hunched figure, concentrating deep in his prayer. But that moment is gone all too soon, and no, they do not stop to purchase his tissue papers sitting obediently in stacks of three's, along the length of his leg which ends in a stump.

The prosthetic leg stands tall next to him, almost on par with his frumpy shoulder. The prosthetic leg stands motionless and solemn, a grim reminder of the fact that a portion of his leg is gone. It looks over each transaction he makes, and assumes the role of the cash register as the money is placed gently into it.

A mother guides her young daughter to the old man and thrusts a crisp two dollar note into her tiny hand; she passes it to him, all the while observing the sight that lay before her.

Just looking at the very moment their hands meet, it's hard to tell who's the one passing the money. After all, parents have always provided for their children. But looking at the little girl's stance, it's pretty evident she's the one passing him the money; passing him a little gift of life.

The mother smiles as he reaches down to take the tissue papers, and politely declines it with a subtle gesture. He beams.

The lined old face becomes a crinkled one, as the lines engraved itself on his face all the more evidently. He nods back in reply, and waves them on, Happy.

He surreptitiously placed the dollar note into the prosthetic leg, and resumes prayer. "God above, Thank you for that kind lady and her daughter."

He looks up once more. And heading towards him is an average University going student. She was observing him intently for twenty minutes odd, and he touched her heart.

For his perseverance, for his laudable spirit, for his smile.

She handed him her very own two dollar note. And he smiles the very same smile he offered to the mother and daughter just now.

He says a grateful Thank You, and his eyes sparkle.
She returns that very human gesture, and moves along as the invisible force of the human traffic sweeps her back into her world.

If two parallel worlds even existed.