Rats and hobos

Last night, on my way to the new place, I saw a dead rat on the sidewalk. When I looked closer, I saw that it was stuck in a crack in the pavement around a manhole cover, and it was bent at the waist (if rats can be said to have waists, that is) and its head and torso were slumped over the cover. It was clearly in the midst of trying to squeeze through the crack and reach the sidewalk when something happened to kill it.

This morning, there was a youngish dude passed out on the 4 train. He was on the floor, slumped against an empty seat when I boarded at Nevins in Brooklyn, but at some point, he lost his perch and stretched out entirely on the floor. No one, myself included, did anything to help him, although when he fell completely to the floor, his eyeglasses fell under him, and one fellow pried them lose and placed them on the guy’s chest. Finally, a cop came through the train and rousted him.

Dead rats and passed-out drunks. Ah, New York.

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