Can I Make friends with you?

Out on the streets, there isn’t much public table I can write on, so I decided to use a dirty transformer box as a table.

While contemplating what to write to the newly weds, a young man approached. “Do you have the time?”

I wrestled out my iPhone. “It’s 1:41.”

“Thank you.” Before I can put away my phone, the young man reached out his right hand. I clumsily transferred the phone to my left hand, and shook hands with him.

“Can I make friends with you?”

1, 2, 3, 4 seconds.

“… Sorry, what do you mean?”

“Can I make friends with you? I don’t make friends easily.” He face is emotionless and body expression sturdy. I thought of the man on the bus yesterday, and the Mexican guy who walked around Mountain View holding a lunch box with a Google sticker on top. Fraud stories featuring young, innocent people flashed across my head.

I looked at him, having no information to judge him as a fraud, a wacko, or simply a person who doesn’t act by social norms.

“Sorry, I’m leaving soon.” I have a card to finish writing and I’m meeting my friend at 2.

“Okay, sorry for disturbing you.” He hold out his hand and I shook the pale, chubby hand again. Still emotionless and sturdy in action, the young boy turned back and walked away.