Living in New York presents problems that no other city can have. Dealing with insane people on the subway is one of them. Okay, so Japan has it's old perverts who rub up against sailor-suited schoolgirls, but NYC has it's own share of absolute fruitcakes. I was on the train last night coming home from work, and I amazingly managed to score an empty seat. Standing in front of the seat ws a seedy-looking guy with one of those mustaches that goes all the way down to the chin, yet is still not a beard. His left hand was buried deep in his pants pocket, and in front of my eyes he began fondling his genitals. I looked around the train, trying to read the Spanish fashion magazines the women sitting next to me were looking at, but always in my peripheral vision was this guy rubbing the bulge of his penis with spastic vigor. It was truly like he didn't care that people could tell that he was scratching himself or pleasuring himself or whatever; his hand in his pocket, he merrily continued his task, his face a creepy-eyed blank. I hadn't brought a book to read, so my entire train ride was spent with my eyes darting around the train, vainly trying to avoid the spectacle of this guy's public manhandling. It was the longest 20 minutes of my life, and I breathed an audible sigh of relief when my stop finally came.

So that is my new definition of Hell; an insane man groping his crotch in your face, forever.