I was on the subway earlier this week, a late morning trip into Manhattan on a train where I did happen to get one of the few remaining seats. At Lexington Avenue a couple of youths boarded and announced their intention to dance for us. I glanced at my fellow passengers -- each and every one of them maintain blank stares, straight ahead (just as Alane and I had done at Lolita's that night!).
Anyway, one of the two switched on a portable speaker and the other grabbed the overhead straphanger rails and started... a bizarre parallel-bar gymnastic display. Remember: there's not a whole lot of room on those not-very-wide subway cars. So these guys stayed mostly in a crouch as they flipped and hung and twirled around the upright handrail.
By the time the train pulled into 5th Avenue station they had already gone up and down the car asking (unsuccessfully) for money. They got off and the doors closed. I turned to the woman sitting next to me and said, "Those were the least attractive pole-dancers I've ever seen."
The woman seemed surprised that she would be spoken to. She laughed nervously then quickly went back to staring blankly ahead. I got up because my stop was next. As the train came to a stop I looked up and saw a fresh sneaker-print on the ceiling.