The scent of Listerine carries five rows.
He is wrapped in a horse blanket, has a sombrero dangling down his back and a train engineer's hat mashed onto his head. He tears his attention away from his companion to focus on three 20-somethings. He lets them know that they are useless punks, even though they look like university students who will pose their biggest threat to society if they have to resort to their fall back option of commercial banking.
He says they are punks and challenges them to do as much with their lives as he did when he was younger. The rant disregards decorum. A small African woman burrows into a copy of Metro to evade the spittle and scent that menaces during the rant as he lays into the three men, who are doing their best not to laugh in his face.
The train stops at the next station and the man gropes for his feet and stands he turns to the crowd on the train and titles himself in a manner the nastiest of satirists would not affix.
"I am Pink Panther."
With that, he exits to the platform at City Hall Station, disappearing into the unconsumed detritus of pending progress.