The Sweeper

     From 1920 to 1935, the subway station at 18^th Street and 4^th Avenue was under the custodianship of a janitor by the name of August Washington.  August was responsible for the upkeep and maintenance of the station.  Everything from polishing the wood paneling, adjusting the clocks, and sweeping the floors fell under his jurisdiction.

     His daily routine started with sweeping out all the vagrants that had wondered in for shelter overnight.  “Excuse me sir, but you’ll have to move on now,” he would say, always polite.  Then he would sweep up all the paper and trash that had blown up from the tunnel.  His morning routine would end right before the first gush of passengers arrived.

     And every time, the litter would be right back again.  It ranged from newspapers, to apple cores.  From broken bottles to vomit.  And every time, he would clean it up without a care in the world, but was never happy about the vomit.

     But every day he found a cigarette stomped out and ground into the same spot on the concrete floor where it lined up with the door to the train.  The tobacco ash swept up just fine, but over the course of fifteen years, a black stain grew.

     Another point of constant frustration was the gum spot over the stairs leading into the station from the street.  The kids from the local neighborhood had taken to sticking their chewing gum on the ceiling above the final stair.  He had never seen them do it, but he knew it was just some kids.  He couldn’t get to it to clean, so over the years it had piled up into a large gray lump.

     On the morning of July 31^st, 1935, August, now fifty-four years old and close to retiring, was going about his daily routine.  While finishing up his morning sweep, he saw a couple kids giving another kid a boost, sticking gum on that spot.  August rushed over, but they ran off when they saw him approaching.  He looked up to inspect the sticky mass, but could not tell if it had gotten any bigger.

     A smoking man came down the stairs, and passed by him.  He looked familiar, one of the regulars, but this time August watched the man walk over to stand near the black stain.  A light wind kicked up as a train came into the station, its brakes squeaking.  The smoking man dropped his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out.  His foot pivoted as he smashed the cigarette into the black stain.  The door to the train opened and the man stepped inside.

     August called out, “Please don’t smash it out like that.  It stains the floor.”  The man either didn’t hear or chose to ignore the plea.  The station emptying, August took his broom and brushed the discarded cigarette over the edge, onto the tracks below.

     From behind August, a vagrant man made his way stumbling down the stairs.  The final stair was a final tumble, and the man crumpled into a pile.  A croaking sound from the man preceded a burp, which lead to him retching on the ground.

     In disgust, August turned his attention back to the black stain.  He swept at it over and over to no avail.

     The next day, August went about his routine, but he made sure to end it by being at the bottom of the stairs to watch for those children.  They came, all of them chewing gum, but when they saw him waiting, they turned and went back up the stairs.  August smiled in satisfaction.  He would make this part of his daily routine from here forward.  August took a look back up to the mass of gum.  His smile disappeared when he thought the gum pile seemed bigger than the day before.

     The foot steps of a lone passenger echoed down the stairs.  August watched as the familiar smoking man walked passed him and over to the black stain on the ground.

     “Excuse me sir,” August said to him.  “Would you mind not smashing out your cigarette quite so hard?  It stains the floor.”

     “Are you talking to me,” the man turned and asked as he took a final drag of smoke.

     “Yes sir, if you please.”

     The man dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, grinding it into the concrete.  The man blew out his last breath of smoke into August’s face then turned back to the tunnel.  The sound of an approaching train began to echo through the station.

     August took his broom, put it on the man’s back and pushed him over the side.  The train swept into the station, blowing papers and other debris.  After the train left the station again, August looked down to see the cigarette was still on the stain in front of him.  He lowered his broom and swept the cigarette over the side.