And I thought the Unabomber was in prison. Here is a guy with filthy coke-bottle glasses and crazy hair, carrying many pages of handwritten text. He is now up and asking for money for food and sleep. Money for sleep. Hmmm

It was almost as if he forgot to beg until after he finished writing and scrutinizing other passengers in a sociopathic way. He doesn’t look or smell homeless. He sat back down.

In typical NY fashion, I do not move into another car. I stay in the same car as a sociopath because after assessing the odds of a sociopath in each train car, I am opting for the sociopath I know.

Ok he left. So far, no other sociopath has presented symptoms in public. Many look slightly agitated as if they’ve had bad days and still have to take a commuter train home from Penn Station or Grand Central Station. Others have that blank face that is scary in its own way. Ok, now socio-man has returned, begging.

Ok, so he left again. Now a man in a parka with a hood is talking to himself and staring off in that crazy way. He is really scary because he looks and smells homeless. Not sure why I think he could turn violent at any second. Maybe because he lives way off the grid and he is talking threateningly and with anger. This is a time when I am glad I am getting off at the next stop.

QED that every train car must have a sociopath, lest the cosmic stasis be upended.

Notes from Underground, indeed.