How to Take a Satisfying Winter-Time Crap if You're a Bum on an Elevated Train Platform

Begin by hopping the turnstyle or scaling a pillar or however the hell you get up there. Feel the cool morning breeze on your face, letting you know that you're alive. Ruminate on the myriad hand-rolled Newport-butt stogies you blazed through since sun-up, and the Long-Island iced tea of malt-liquor backwash you painstakingly assembled from the unbroken bottles littering your gutter. An egg sandwich? Maybe. Hot-dog bun-ends? More likely. Feel the rumble, rumbling in the breeze, in your gut. Catch that chill in the air. Catch the feeling. Unbuckle. Nearly all elevated train stations are supported by steel girders, I-beams running right to the room. This is a good thing. People lean on these beams whilst waiting for trains. These people are quite stupid. You're prone to lean, too, but you're not stupid, oh no. Picture the cross section of the I: top rail on top, bottom rail on the bottom, spanner in between. Lean back so that you rest on the spanner, arms out on either rail just like armrests. You'll fit; you don't really eat, per se. Nice, right? OK, now since you've already unbluckled or are simply perpetually unbluckled, it's a small matter to leanb forward slightly and cinch down the back of your trousers, minding to get all the layers. (It's easy to lose track.) Feel the breeze on your face and rumble in your gut, and know you've arrived. Now let her rip. Don't worry - your rather questionable if existant diet all but assures it'll just ooze down the I-beam, slowly solidify, and remain long after the neighborhood kids set you on fire while you sleep. Now lean forward, cinch up the pants, and you're done. Hurray!

How to Go About Your Morning Piss if You're a Bum in Herald Square

Shuffle on down any of the many staircases to the token booth and enter a turnstyle as if you got two bucks to blow. Place a hand in the vicinity of the Metrocard reader, perhaps even with a scrap of paper or something in it to better simulate the commerce of commuting. Yes, you are indeed a productive and participating member of society. As you feign a bumbled pass at paying your fare, extract your penis from countless layers of soiled cotton through broken zippers and fraying thread. Turn slightly to the side as if comtemplating the intricacies of modern technology while in actuality protecting your homeless modesty. Urinate profusely, right down the side of the turnstile, leaving a pleasant, steamy puddle for all real-life commuters to splash in. Replace penis in pants, or not - Who cares? You're homeless! Pretend to think better of your proposed trip and shuffle back up the stairs to the light of day.