Ryan's Journal

They caught my attention with the French. Clearly the man was lost, and the guy with the potted plant's body language spoke clearly his discomfort in contrast to their frustrated English-French negotiations on how to get from here to there. It was unfortunate he did.

What I managed to gather from the lost man, likely African for his France French but nonfunctional English, was that he wanted to get to a very specific place in Medford, or Grenville, or maybe Winchester, but probably some combination of the last two in Medford, searching for his parents' home. Somehow he'd made it to Boston proper without a transit card - he left it at home - without a phone, without any idea of where he actually was.

Too bad, because I barely speak French and understand barely more. Most of his story will remain a mystery. He didn't want money, didn't want my time - "you have somewhere else to be," didn't want to use my phone. He just wanted to go to his parent's house. He might have been better off with the guy with the potted plant. I mean, hey, potted plant. Some days I wish those six years of French had actually amounted to more than ne comprend pas.

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