It's officially Christmas in Chicago. There's a drunk hobo on the northbound Red Line singing the first two lines of Frosty the Snowman over and over again.
He doesn't know the words. It sounds like "Froooooosty the Snowman...blahblahblahblahblahblahblaaaaaaah!"
Met a homeless black man at 47th Street, who refers to himself as Junebug. We sang Beatles songs together and he told me "It's not what you do, but the way that you do it."
Then he tried to sell me a bottle of vodka and a stolen women's bike, with the bike lock still attached.