Standards

So we are on a crowded subway going downtown and across from us sits what I can only imagine is a homeless man. But let me paint the picture, he's in his late 30's to 40's, stained pants, white shirt that he has raised above his belly because he's scratching himself, no shoes, strike that he had taken his shoes off and they were under the seat and the toenails that one would imagine on a hobbit yellow and black, long, dirty. He had a bucket with his belongings and in one hand a to-go cup of ice that he was chewing on and the other a bag of chips that only occasionally made it into his mouth. He was by normal standards filthy, and if you asked the woman who sat next to him she might have called him crude and disgusting as he ate his chips that spilled across his belly and onto the seat and then stuck his hand down his pants to scratch himself. But what I appreciated about his man was that he had standards because sure, he may not be wearing shoes, and he may have been high on crack and covered in chips and god knows what but in his bucket of belongings lay a bottle of purel. Because you never know when you'll need some hand sanitizer.