One Bad Apple
I'm running in Central Park, with only Tom Petty's just another "Face In The Crowd" (read: how I felt in New York City) for company. As I turn a corner, a grounded homeless man, no younger than 65, grabs my ankles, and screams, "My favorite Jelly Belly flavor is spaghetti, can I have a couple bucks?" After I ask myself if that is this man's legitimate version of singing-for-change, or if jelly belly really does make spaghetti-flavored bellies, I come to one definitive conclusion right there and then: The next flight to the far-too-Big Apple does not have to save a seat for me.