Triple H on the Subway

What do you have? What do you have that isn't yours? What passes by your lips, and ears and nose and through your mouth and under and through your fingers and bowels that is not your very own? Nothing. On the flip side, what have you got that isn't someone else's. Everyone else's. God damn, there is always that flip side.
Here we have Triple H, whose craggy and poc'd visage glares at me occasionally on my way from and to the office.