A man is sitting on the commuter train without a ticket.

The conductor says, "Tickets."

The Man without Ticket (MwoT) says, "I need to buy one."

Conductor: You need to buy it before you get on the train.

MwoT: I can't get one here?

Conductor: No, you can't. You didn't see the signs? There are signs all over the station and on the train, that you have to have a ticket before you get on.

MwoT: Oh, I didn't realize that. I was in a rush getting onto the train.

Conductor: Well, it's a new proof-of-payment system, has been for about a year now. Where you goin' to?

MwoT: San Jose.

Conductor: OK, well, when you get off there, will you purchase a ticket for this ride?

MwoT: Absolutely.

A few moments later, I heard a muffled voice downstairs, "San Jose? I didn't have a ticket once and I had to get off the train at the next stop!" The owner of the voice, a man with a trim sandy beard, came back and resumed his seat near me.

A few moments after that, the conductor appeared. "After conferring with the other conductor [exact words], I need to give you a citation. Can I see some ID?"

The MwoT obliged, and the two filled out a ticket, the conductor making sure to use a very audible voice now and then, saying, "Now you just make sure and get a ticket before you get on the next time, alright?"

The unhappy man with the sandy beard let out a huge sigh and other disgusted noises.

I—your author and guide in this adventure—made sure to telegraph with my body language that I was witness to this.

The conductor left on his merry way, and the MwoT went about his life: calling home, saying he was on his way, and so on.

A few stops later I had to get off, as did the grumbling man. "Fuckin bullshit," he intoned, grabbing his lunch bag and stomping off.

Waiting in the vestibule, he laid into the conductor: "That's fucking bullshit; I had to get off the train." The conductor asked, "OK, but was that me who asked you to get off the train?"

"Fuck You!"

We both deboarded, I (your author and guide) and the man with the discontent. "Fucking bullshit!" he reminded all those within earshot. The conductor stepped to the door and looked after the other, who was now shouting and kicking things on the platform. "Was that me?" the conductor repeated in a forlorn voice. "Fuck you!" said the man. "Was that me?" he asked again, as if hurt. "No, it was an employee of your fucking organization!" the other bellowed. He was still shouting as I walked away, looking on.

On a sleepy residential street, a man rounding a corner in his car gave the finger to another motorist who was turning left from a perpendicular street.

The dictator stands trial today, shouting and pointing from behind his trim beard.

God said to Abraham, Kill me a son.
Abe said, Man, you must be puttin' me on.
God said, No!
Abe said, What?
God said, You can do what you want, Abe, but!
next time you see me comin' you better run!

—Bob Dylan, "Highway 61 Revisited"