Feelin’ the pinch?
I’m not sure either but I’m sure as hell noticing a trend in my grand old city of New York.
Ya see, during the Giuliani era (error) there was an alarming absence in the Manhattan hobo population. Where did they all go? I don’t know, Jersey?
Point is, there was a whole lot less of them on the streets, or at least the streets that most people walk down. But now, with the looming crash of the world economy the old liver and onion lovin’ street denizen is out in mass effect.
Now, I don’t mind the panhandling and the “hey, you gonna eat that sammich you eatin?” but one thing that twists my tit is the angry-at-the-world bumb that’s gotta piss on every regular guy he sees… literally.
See, yesterday I’m walking to the train station at 42nd street when I catch wind of… yeah you guessed it, piss. Yummy, I know. Senses now focused with sniper-like accuracy I zero in on the source…
Swaddled in an oil stained parka in the beautiful 72 degree mid October sunshine is the grizzliest of dudes writing his name on the sidewalk with his junk in three foot letters. Shocked, I step out of the flood zone.
Hey Rudy!!! Call the hobo patrol.