He’s wearing a royal blue polo shirt, standard issue black slacks and generic black work shoes, the kind that masquerade as a dress shoe but are nothing more than a sneaker. He looks like a Blockbuster employee, minus the badge. He half-mutters, half-bellows like a street preacher, except he is constructing a dialogue with himself, as though practicing lines for a play by performing both parts.
“You will bow down to me! And you will bow down to the Almighty!” is said to no one in particular, followed by an almost-whisper, “Too much Samuel Jackson, motherf*cker.” As the train approaches the next station, he turns to the doors to get off, catching his reflection in the window: “Gerber baby, you’re my hero…I get it, motherf*cker, I get it.”
As the Metro Mutterer, he is the opposite of the Dog or Horse Whisperer. Instead of communicating with animals with therapeutic aims, the mutterer sounds off to random people with unsettling results.
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