My friends and I could not help but be fascinated by this man and woman. They were both trying to eat the same ice cream sandwich, but since he only had about three teeth and she could barely keep her eyes open, most of the delectable treat ended up either on their clothes or the train floor, right next to the random desk drawer the man had lugged onto the subway. In addition, the man had the shittiest tattoos I've ever seen (and boy, have I seen some shitty tattoos in my time); they seemed to have been made with a rusted needle attached to the end of a ball-point pen. His left shoulder read "FUCK" in scrawled lettering, and the back of his right shoulder yielded the phrase "FUCK IT" (just in case we didn't get it the first time). Of course, both of their hairstyles were variations on the mullet: his was not very noticeable and might have escaped the eye of a mullet amateur, while hers had grown out, yet still maintained the mullet mystique.

I guess it was the soothing rhythm of the subway ride(either that or the massive amount of quaaludes they had presumably consumed), because the two started falling asleep. Actually they did fall asleep, but the most frightening part about it was how the woman's eyes werenât really closed. She was unconscious all right, but I--and everyone else observing this mini-drama--could definitely see the "whites of her eyes." Oh CAVA, where are you when we need you?

The action really picked up once some Brooklyn homies entered our car. There were four of them--one had a boom box, and the others were contributing to the beat. Disregarding the sleeping couple (their nap had been going on about 5 minutes), the group turned up their stereo while one of them proceeded to slap the train door. Why? Maybe to ward off the notorious evil F train demons. The tattooed man (I'll call him "Busted #1") woke up and quickly jumped to his feet. His woman ("Busted #2") weakly clawed the air, trying to get him to sit down. Busted #1 banged the drawer on the ground a couple of times, another attempt at scaring the aforementioned demons. Tension mounted; expecting a fight between the Busteds and the Homies, we held our breath in anticipation.

Luckily, there was only love between the two groups. Busted #1 and Homie #1 made a drug deal (planning to meet at "the fountain at two") while Busted #2 languidly pulled a sheathed knife from her pocket, gave it a casual glance and then stuffed it right back in. Busted #1's wallet and keys almost fell out of his back pocket as he staggered about the car, but Busted #2, always looking out for her man, snatched them up and saved them before they hit the ground (causing much confusion once Busted #1 realized they weren't on his body anymore).

After the meeting place had been established, Busted #1 felt compelled to shed his wife-beater, revealing another disturbing tattoo on his back. It read "Mad Gypsy" and was decorated with various crappy designs. We wondered if it was an affectionate or offensive term, whether it was meant to inspire love or fear. We also didn't know whether to avert our eyes or try and hook up some of the drugs they were on. Wisely, we did the former, because even public displays of intoxication deserve their privacy.