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

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