There was a guy, maybe 25 or 26, clean cut and well dressed, who I noticed leaning up against a column by the waiting area, with a look of absolute desperation on his face. I discreetly moved closer to him to see what was going on, and all I hear is "baby please don't leave me" before the line on the other end of the phone goes dead. He looks at the screen, and it's clear the call is over before his plea ever got answered. He lowers his head against the column and quietly begins to sob right in the middle of Penn Station on a busy Sunday afternoon. I look around and absolutely nobody seems to notice this guy and his obvious pain. They say in a city people are too busy or rushed to care, and here I am the only one in all of Penn Station who seems to take notice. Maybe it's because I feel him more than he realizes. Maybe it's comforting to me knowing that someone else feels your pain, even if they don't realize it. He finally pulls himself together, the occasional tear still running from his eye and disappears into the mass of people waiting in line for a train bound for Boston. I know the feeling man, even if you don't know it.