Yesterday, while riding on the Q train downtown to Canal, there was a stereotypical empty vomit-covered seat in the corner. No one was sitting there until we stopped at 14th Street and a young couple walked on and made a beeline for the seat. The woman sitting across from it politely volunteered, "Oh, I wouldn't sit there. Look..." and pointed out the dirty trail of what could be anything covering the seat and surrounding floor. The young woman about to sit down then asked, "Is it fresh?"
None of us knew how to answer this question.
But more importantly, does it matter? It's still vomit. Only in New York.