Doors—who needs them? A tipster snapped this photo of one lithe nonconformist around 12:30 a.m. near Union Square, a man (boy? REBEL!) who simply refused to have his creativity hemmed in by the fascist MTA and its rules and its designated exits.
The train had made it about 2/3 of the way into the station before stopping for some reason or another. After a couple of minutes, the conductor opened a door a couple of cars down, but some bright, impatient minds decided that it would be faster to just jump to the platform from the space between the cars.
What else does he do? Does he type with his elbows? Will he ascend stairs only on days that start with "T," and then only after he's removed his pants and tied them around his head as a blindfold? Does he trim his perfectly-coiffed hair using only a rusty nail and old tax forms? At least he has his shoes on.
