ham fisted theatrics

Tonight as I was waiting for the subway after Cagematch and the bar, two homeless guys got in a shouting match. One was a big fat guy with a jacket over no shirt, a fro and glasses. The other was old, wearing an Indian blanket poncho and a white turban. The fat guy shouted the other one away, across the way to the Uptown platform. Then for the benefit of all, he released a spit-cloud onto the track and shouted: "I could eat! I'm bein' real! I'm 395 pounds, I could eat! BROOKLYN! BUSHWICK! Yea! When you see me tomorrow at Fourteenth Street, you could even give me ten dollars. Thirty-fourth street. I could eat!"

Then, having said his piece, he sat down on the stairs and read a newspaper quietly.

I watched the turban guy across the way as he followed a group of three people like a vulture. Then a woman sitting on a bench, rolling suitcase in front of her, started yelling at him. I missed most of it except, "There ain't shit wrong with him, but if he comes around me again, there will be!" Turban guy hid behind a pillar after that.

My train came, and there was a cop in my car. I sat down and read my book. Across from me sat an old man in a flannel shirt reading WARBIRD Magazine, a publication devoted to military aircraft. Before the next stop, a guy in an IFC beanie came from the car behind us and said to the cop: "There's a homeless guy in the last car of the train,in the driver part." By which I assume he meant the conductor's booth. The cop and three transit employees subdued the guy at the next stop before we took off again. It was the fat shirtless bum who could eat.

If he had had an itinerary for his evening, it would've looked like this:

1) Get in a fight with another homeless guy wearing a turban
2) Bang on a garbage can
3) Spit on the tracks
4) Yell a platform monologue about being fat
5) See what's in the news
6) Hijack a subway car