Today, while wandering Chelsea in search of answers to my banking dilemmas, I saw a man begging for change. That in and of itself was not so strange. What was strange was that he was shirtless, and had pulled his pants down so far that his bare bum was resting on the pavement. Basically, were his bidness not snagged on the elastic waistband of his track pants, he would have been nude.
The woman standing next to me at the walk light noticed this as well, and curled up her lip in disgust.
“Oh, nuh unh,” she said. “I know he ain’t sitting there all bare-assed thinking I’m gonna give him some change.”
“Maybe he thinks that we’ll give him five bucks to put his pants back on,” I suggested.
She shook her head. “You want money? You put your pants back on your own self. There are rules.”
I was glad to hear that.
“This is why I tell my boyfriend, ‘You take those shoes off before you come walking in on my carpet,'” she said. “You don’t know what nasty-ass shit you stepped in today. Like homeless people’s ass prints. That kind of shit.”
I mean, excellent point, right?