Look! There goes a harried single mom, someone else who's one bad decision away from being homeless, a heart attack waiting to happen, a chronic masturbator, a model slash actress, a diddler, and a bouncer who needs to get off the 'roids. There are eight million stories in the naked city but I've only got time for one, this is rush hour.
Each morning walking through Union Station, I see a man standing in the same spot, cellphone to his ear. Something about the way he's dressed and the life's beaten me down look he wears tells me he's busy placing bets with a bookie. I've passed him nearly every day for a couple of years so I should know.
A few days ago I slowed down and went to put my newspaper in the recycling bin near where he stands and finally overheard him conducting this piece of nasty business: "I just wanted to make sure you were up honey, hope you have a wonderful day, I love you very much". My guess is that he calls the bookie right after that. In fact, I'd bet on it.