Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.

On the train home, last night, I met the man with the smallest ears in the world.

The train was crowded in that "total violation of personal space" way and, like most anyone, you don't want to be breathing into somebody's face so you turn around and breathe down somebody's neck, instead.

And there they were. You ever see a broken conch shell with only the inside tight spiral left? This guy's ears were like that. Two, sort of, spiral nubs coming out of his head. An anti-matter Ferengi! He had the teensiest lobes, and they were red from the cold, but the lobes were barely bigger than the white-skinned ear pipes that poked out of the sides of his head.

You could follow the curve where his hair was trimmed around his ears, but there was no lobe blocking the view like you would expect. If I was the barber cutting his hair I think I would toss one of those giant barber hair bibs over my head and yak in the barber sink if I had to touch one of those things.

I had to force myself to stare at the tattoos on his neck. I wanted to whisper-sing to him, "Tommy, can you hear me?" If the guy had been in an industrial accident and had his ears mangled I could deal with that, no problem, 'cause, you know, stuff happens. But this guy had perfect little baby ears. If this guy was a salad bar, his ears would be those bitty corn cobs. His ears would be, like, Carol Burnett's worst nightmare.

With his tattoos and his dark clothes he was lookin' all sorta tough, but there's no way he could pull a cigarette out of a pack and park it up on his head for later. I wonder if he can use the ear buds from an iPod.

Alright, that was the shallowest, most small-minded post ever.