The whole of the 6 train car smelled, quite disturbingly, of fish.

It was the Grand Central stop. The source of the smell came from a homeless guy huddled in the corner. He had a large wheelie suitcase that was likely the source of the fishy smell. He was half-sleeping and his face was buried in his black bomber coat. He filled a ginger ale bottle with vodka without even looking up, then slipped the bottle into his mouth.

As one might expect, riders gave the man a wide berth as they entered the 6 train. This caused a bottleneck at the door, with one man blocking the way.

He was a skinny white guy, around 50, gray hair, a sweater over a denim shirt and a necktie. His chin stuck way out–not like in the Marlboro Man way but more in the manner of that father from one of the B-list animated Christmas specials of our youth.

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A woman spied the open space and pushed for it. The man with the chin stood in her way.

“You really wanna go over there?” he said, hoping she’d realize there was a stankin’ homeless guy there and they’d enjoy some whimsical “only in New York” moment.

She wasn’t having it.

“I’d love to go over there,” she shot back.

The man grudgingly moved and the woman eased over to the homeless guy’s heretofore unconquered biosphere.