That's Par

I got on the train the other morning and smelled taco meat. 
But I bet there were no tacos or meat.

I thought it quite ironic listening to a homeless man in the subway play and sing Michael Jackson's, "Man in The Mirror," on guitar. 
It kind of angered me.  It was no justice.

As I entered the train to go home yesterday, a man sitting down by the doors who had on an old black  suede jacket, droopingly sat, his head bobbing but awake. On the left breast of his old jacket was a generous proportion of refunded vomit. Looked like oatmeal and carrots poorly blended together with dirty fingernails and maple syrup.  I can only assume it was vomit, but if he's the healthy type who makes blended drinks/meals to keep from spending easy money on fast and unhealthy food, more power to him. 
But, he probably isn't.  And I enjoy assuming.
Thanks Chicago.