homeless man on the subway →[More:]Yesterday I get on the downtown express. I'm usually carrying things on this run, so I look for a seat on the crowded train. It's packed, except for one conspicuously empty seat in the corner next to a black man in his sixties wearing numerous layers of brown clothing, women's sunglasses, and no socks. He makes twitchy pantomiming gestures as he listens to an old walkman.

I decide to trust the wisdom of the crowd that shrinks away from him, and stay standing where I am. One girl has her face pinched, turned uncomfortably away from him, her nose almost touching the blank wall.

As my stop approaches, he removes his headphones, mumbling something about the righteousness of Dr. Funkenstein. He is also getting off, and uses two canes to laboriously inch himself toward the door. I hold my breath and scoot past him.

Now I'm in Burritoville having my lunch, and who comes shuffling in but subway guy.
I can see that he is headed toward the free chips and salsa station. He stops halfway there, reaches deep into a pocket and pull out a one dollar bill, that is folded into a neat tight square. He begins to unfold the square. I'm guessing he'll be folding the square back up again in a minute, and that he just wants to display the dollar while he partakes of the free chips, to guard against any accusation of vagrancy.

My change is still on my tray, so I stand up and hand him a five dollar bill. He says, "thank you, sir," and kind of leans in toward me, I take just the tiniest sniff of the air near him. Nothing. I lean in a little closer and stiff again, what's that? I take a deeper sniff. It's a combination of laundry detergent, fabric softener, shampoo, and shaving cream.

"Dr. Funkenstein, you smell fresh as a daisy!," I say. "Oh yes I do. I wash my clothes prit near every day," he says, and turns to leave.

"Where you going Dr. Funkenstein?"

"Imma get me some socks."