This man in a well-tailored European suit has left his suitcase on the curb while he retrieves something from the intersection. A blue work shirt on a wire hanger dangles from the suitcase handle. As I pass, I want to take this hanger between my thumb and forefinger, lift it, and carry it with me. I’d like to see what the man will do when a well-dressed woman who has obviously showered recently steals his interview shirt. But I keep walking instead, no more interesting than I was to begin with.

Two evangelical missionaries are standing on the corner. The big letters on their chest placards read “FALLEN! FALLEN IS THE GREAT” and “BURNING IN HELL” with little hand-painted flames licking at the letters. It’s a sunny day, and they’re smiling, sipping cups of coffee, laughing at each other’s jokes, and ignoring the commute crowd. Gentlemen, God is watching.

First-world living:

• The Oscar Meyer Wiener truck
• Frat parties.
• Toilets activated by sensor.

A little old man with a cane boards the bus one laborious step at time. He’s about 70 and wearing a blue jacket with matching cap. He turns toward me; the front of his cap says, “Old School.”

On the sidewalk, there is a woman kneeling before a plastic Jack O’ Lantern–the kind kids use for trick-or-treating. She has a strand of Mardi Gras beads wrapped around her palm like rosary beads, and she’s intently flipping through a small, green Bible. Every so often, she genuflects to the little plastic pumpkin. Lady, I hope you get a lot of candy this year.