...with a mullet. Not just any mullet. Extreme mullet (ooh...a new reality show) with 2 inches sticking straight up on top with a tail down to the middle of his back.
For this fashion faux pas alone I would never make eye contact. Stare at the fiesta on his head? Yes. Eye contact? Nuh uh. Add to that the poster of god-knows-what on a stick and the officious air and my head is jammed into my book. I swear New Yorkers are so well read because they like to disappear on mass transportation.
He passes from one end of the car to the other and declaims, "I'm sorry to tell you ladies, but there are no angels on this car, so I will not sing O Holy Night and call forth the spirit."
And all I can think is, "Fuck off, asshole."
Nope. No angel here.
*This might maybe have to become a subway series. Keep eyes peeled.
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Would it have been better or worse if he had sung and had a good voice?
ReplyDeleteworse. because...well...just because.
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