While listening to my ipod on the 92, I sat down next to nervous looking, strung out, yet also dangerous older man. He was covered in tattoos he clearly either did himself, or got in prison. I noticed him eyeing me, looking creepily pleased. He kept looking down at what I thought was my chest, but he then indicated that he was actually checking out my ipod.
He takes out this old school ipod in a big, heavy case, and points to the song currently on his play list: Celine Dion's The Power of Love. No joke. He closed his eyes and proceeded to sway in his seat the whole way down 8th Street.
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