Archive for the ‘Hobos’ Category

Where Would This Site Be Without the Hobos?

Trinidadian hobo: Step into the car and please don't block the doors. There's another train directly behind this one. Biiing-bonnng! That's from the old cars. This is how they do it now: “Dingdong!” (recorded “if you see something, say something” message plays; hobo recites the message along with it, mimicking perfectly.) “Tell a police officer or an MTA employee.” Or tell me, because it might be a bag o' money. Or weed. But if it's only a nickel bag of weed, just turn it in to a policeman. If it's a 500-pound bag, give it to me! I need that haze! Now, here's a picture of my wife. Two years ago, on Easter Sunday, my wife passed away of a massive heart attack. I want you all to know about this because I want you all to know I'm still single. The ladies, that is, not the men. I'm not gay. I have gay friends, but I'm not gay. I'm a lesbian. I'm a lesbian because I love what they eat!

–4 Train

Overheard by: Aloof Loner

Wednesday One-liners Hit the Premiere

Guy: The thing about Cronenberg is that you have to appreciate him in
context to what he does…which is often unappreciable. –Belmont Lounge, East 15th Street

Give Me Credit for Waiting to Make a Move

Hobo: Hey, c'mon now, we know each other what, ten years? Ten years, we be saying “hi” to each other. No need to act like that.
Professional-looking lady: You put your hand on my ass!
Hobo: Oh, that didn't mean nothing. C'mon, we be friends. Ever day we say “hi” and smile and talk while we walk and now you gettin' all riled on me.
Professional lady: You put your grimy, damn hand on my ass.
Hobo: Oh, that was just a friendly little touch. C'mon, now, we friends. We know each other too long to let somethin' like this cause problems. Ten years. What's your name again?

–53rd St & 8th Ave