As the train I’m on pulls into the station I see a disheveled man surrounded by tattered canvas bags standing on the platform. When the train doors open he hastily gathers up his things – one bag goes over one shoulder, another over the other, the remaining four are taken two in each hand. He staggers into the train, sets his bags down next to the door, gathers himself, and begins speaking. In a surprisingly high-pitched, raspy voice he recounts, to anyone or no one, the recent indignities he’s suffered at the hands of the police. ‘The homeless,’ he shouts, ‘have to use the bathroom just like anyone else.’ He goes on to describe, in meticulous detail, each of the incidents over the past few days in which police have prevented him, in one way or another, from using a public or private rest room. The doors open and close, stations come and go, passengers enter and exit as he continues this impassioned, inspired speech, delivered as if he’s standing before a rapt audience.