Overhead at a westbound stop on East Colfax 11:02 PM:
An elderly man with iPod-sized hearing aids earnestly lecturing his companions.

“Religion… is Man’s attempt to reach God. Christianity… is God’s attempt to reach man.”

“Oh, that’s good.” “I’ve never heard it put that way before.”

“You like that? I just came up with that.”

On a westbound Route 15, 11:20 PM:
Someone apparently trying to rewrite George Thorogood’s “I Drink Alone.”

“Yeah, that white liquor’ll make you crazy. And brandy makes me sick. Don’t even talk to me about no tequila. And that brown liquor? Unh-uh. But give me that Windsor Crown Royal, I like me that Crown Royal.”

“Is that what that is, man?”

“You know it.”

“What, you got a little cup in there, too?”

“Uh-huh. Sometimes you just gotta have a little sippy-sip.”

“Aw yeah.”

“Can’t stand that brown liquor, man, no scotch, no whisky, can’t handle no brandy, but I like that Windsor Crown Royal…”

In the Market Street Station, waiting for the B Route, 12:10 AM:
A conversationalist.

“You know, when you’re a spy for the Russian government, you get all kinds of benefits.”