Introducing Simon Shrub

Simon Shrub is as inconspicuous and unobtrusive as his name would suggest. He has dark curly hair, he is very thin, and his favorite shirt is flannel. Simon lives at 110th Street in an apartment for one. He says hello to his neighbors. He goes on walks. Mostly, however, he reads his books. He reads all sorts of books; books about war, books about love, books about how people farm in rural parts of Korea. Simon studies all sorts of things. The most interesting of his studies are the people he sees outside his apartment at 110th Street.
Today, Simon needed to buy a stapler. He pulled on his jacket. Walked to the number 2 train and waited – and waited – and waited. He wondered if the train was running a different schedule and waited a bit longer. Waiting patiently is one of Simon’s strongest abilities. When the train did pull up and the doors opened, Simon took a seat near the end of the car.
“What type of stapler should I get?” he thought. “I rarely ever need a stapler, so I should probably get a less expensive one, however when I need it again a cheaper stapler may not work.”
Simon rarely spends money so frivolously. Today’s adventures excited him terribly. He argued back and forth with himself for a while. In the end he decided that he would base the decision on color and feel. After all, what good would a stapler be, cheap or expensive, if he didn’t enjoy using it.
“I KNOW YOU’RE WATCHING ME!” A woman seated across from Simon had nearly startled him out of his seat. “YEAH! I’M TALKING TO YOU!”
Surely, she could not have been talking to Simon. He had only been thinking about staplers and he was almost positive he had been staring at the floor. Although everything in him resisted the urge, he looked directly at the woman.
These are the irresistible moments that intrigue Simon the most. This woman was probably 40 years old. She carried with her a cart full of bags that looked to Simon to be full of smaller bags, which looked to Simon to be full of bags that were even smaller still. As she arranged and rearranged the bags, it was clear how angry this woman was. What could have made her so angry? Where does she live? What does she do with all of those bags? These are the questions that Simon asks about every person. You see, Simon studies people. It’s a habit. And, although he hates confrontation, there are times he just cannot help but explore.
“Me?” he said, barely being heard over the screeching of the subway rails.
“YOU WATCH ME EVERY NIGHT! YOU SEND YOUR PEOPLE TO SET FIRE TO MY HOUSE! I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE UP TO!” the woman’s voice was growing in rage with each sentence. Spit flicked from her mouth, narrowly missing Simon’s face, which grew paler with each passing moment.
Simon shifted in his seat just an inch.
“AND YOU” the woman looked directly into Simon’s eyes. He froze as if remaining perfectly still would allow him to disappear completely. “YOU ARE NO SAFER THAN ANY OF US! THEY WILL COME TO YOUR HOUSE TOO! YOU CAN’T SEE THE CAMERAS, BUT THEY ARE IN YOUR HOUSE. THEY SEND THEIR PEOPLE TO LOOK AT YOU WHILE YOU SLEEP. THEY STEAL YOUR MONEY. THEY BURN DOWN YOUR HOUSE. THEY PUT CHEMICALS IN YOUR FOOD.”
Simon must have looked as if he’d swallowed a live grenade. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the woman. As she turned away from Simon and began to walk down the aisle of the subway car, it became apparent that this woman was not talking to anyone in particular. He couldn’t be sure what was the matter with her, but he was positive she did not belong on a subway car unsupervised. Simon’s eyes followed her as she paced. He also watched the other passengers on the subway. Some shifted uncomfortably. Some found a sudden interest in the newspaper they were carrying. Most just stared without saying a word. Suddenly, the subway car jerked and the woman fell to the ground. She pounded the ground with her fists, yelled, and it looked to Simon as if she was crying as well. He rose a little from his seat.
“72nd Street. Transfer is available to the 1 train. Next stop is Times Square – 42nd Street. Please stand clear of the moving doors,” called the speaker.
Reluctantly, and then with reservation, Simon stood and walked toward the train doors. He reached into his pocket and laid a ten-dollar bill on top of the many bags.
“I’ll be fine without a stapler for today,” thought Simon to himself. He looked at the woman getting to her feet and then at those who were sitting around her.
“I’ll be fine.”