That was Yesterday by Illia Yamkovyi

Life in the big city finally consumed me.

A prestigious job that requires waking up on time every day, ironing pants and shirt, and not forgetting to wear a tie has become my main concern every day. This office job sucks all my energy, but at least it pays well. These thoughts run through my head every day when I get home. Sitting in the subway, I see all sides of this big city and life in it: the same tired people, the dirt, the endless reports about new crimes committed by street gangs, the homeless crammed into different corners to survive another day. But it's not like that for me, I'm going home to my sleeping neighbourhood to iron my shirt again and go to my prestigious job as an office clerk in the morning. Yes, this is my plan for the near future. 

However, something happened yesterday that could have ruined my already bad mood even more. As soon as I got out of the subway wagon and stepped onto the platform, I found myself in a swarm of other people who were also in a hurry. In this stream, I was bumped into by a man who seemed not to see that I was standing right in front of him. He pushed me in the shoulder, and I could only see him for a few seconds, but I already felt disgusted. Without saying anything, he just turned around for a moment and walked away. But I could see him. He looked like a typical homeless person who has only one desire – to save up some money for a bottle of alcohol so that it would be easier to fall asleep on cardboard in some alley at night. And if he doesn't have this money, God only knows what he does to get it. And the way he was dressed disgusted me: old, worn-out pants with the same dirty boots. And on top of that, a dark hoodie with holes and dirty stains. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled over his face, and I could only see his untrimmed and unkempt beard, which stuck out in all directions, and was covered with crumbs of some kind of food, and maybe even the remains of his own vomit. I could still see his eyes, light blue, so light that it was unpleasant and uncomfortable. For a brief moment, I felt afraid, either because of the cold, thoughtless look he gave me or because I thought he might have bumped into me to steal something. But then I looked down and looked at my shirt. He and his dirty clothes had left a brown stain on my white shirt when they had bumped into me. It was big and greasy. On the shirt that I wash and iron every day to wear to work, because the work dress code allows only such shirts. There was no other white shirt, and it really pissed me off. “Freak!” I shouted at his back when he was far enough away. I had never allowed myself to do this before, and I thought I even felt accusing glances, but in fact no one cared. So I returned home, first angry and then sad. "Fucking homeless!" — I said to myself and tried not to think about what I would be told the next day at work for not meeting the appearance requirements. But that was yesterday.

Today, as usual, on my way home by subway, tired and upset because of the reprimand I received, I accidentally saw part of the report on the screen in the wagon. The usual noise of the subway and people's chatter seemed to have stopped so that I could hear what was being said. It was reported that late last night an unknown person had entered one of the basements, which the police had described as one of the largest places for drug trafficking and prostitution. Armed only with a hammer, the unidentified man killed all the members of the gang that owned the brothel and tried to take out all the women who were held there against their will. The unidentified man was wounded and unable to escape, so when the police arrived, he was detained along with the others. The police also found out that there were underage girls among the women held there. And then the photo of the unknown man who killed a dozen bandits with his bare hands. It was him, the same vagrant who had crashed into me in the subway, the homeless man whom I cursed for my ruined shirt. At that moment, it seemed that the life of the big city had swallowed me up, chewed me up, and spat me out.