I'm having an uneventful train ride home. Peaceful, even. I cross the platform at Chambers Street to a waiting 2 train. The doors close and a man from the opposite end of the train car shouts, "REPENT!"

What we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is a subway preacher.

The subway preacher is a unique type of busker. He's not trying to entertain you like the strolling mariachi band or the guy who plays Big Band-Era hits on his horn. Nor is he pleading his sad story in a bold-faced attempt to get donations. No, no. The subway preacher is simply sharing information which is, to be direct about it, that you're going to hell.

On this evening, my subway preacher is a fire-and-brimstone type sporting a thick Jamaican accent. Since it seems that I'm stuck in a traveling pulpit, for the subway preacher does not change cars at each new stop like the musicians, I figure I'll make the best of it.

"The answer is not in your fancy house or your fancy purse or your fancy car. No, mon. The answer is not in any of those things."

He seems to be saying that we place too much importance on material things. That's something I can get on board with, but then he crosses the proverbial line in the sand.

"You think you can listen to the devil all your life and then follow God to the kingdom of heaven? No, mon. It doesn't work like that. Let me tell you how it works. You will all go to hell. You have to break free of your devilish ways. Tell that demon inside you: "You are not welcome here anymore.' Repent, earthly children, REPENT!"

Um…

"God made Eve for Adam. He didn't make Adam for Adam. That's the devil taking up in you."

And because New Yorkers can't keep their mouths shut, a woman protests about this recent comment. The preacher rains a barrage of Bible quotes down upon her. This scene reminds me of a woman affectionately known to F train riders as the Chinese curses lady.

The Chinese curses lady, who eerily resembled Yoko Ono in her giant glasses phase, had one big pet peeve. She did not like anyone to talk on the train. The subject matter wasn't important.

"So, I heard it's going to rain later today."

"One hundred curses on you," said Chinese curses lady. "You call the Chinese name from the devil? One hundred curses!"

Inevitably the offending person would glance her way, realize the lady's elevator was not rising to the top floor, and continue the conversation. "I forgot to bring my umbrella and I have to go way uptown."

"Five hundred curses on you," said Chinese curses lady.

I've seen people move to another part of the train car to get away from her, but she would not be deterred. She would simply follow them, sending curses their way the whole time. For months, I'd traveled unscathed until one day I made the mistake of talking to a friend before I realized she was there. From behind me, her voice boomed, "One thousand curses on you." Whoa. That's a lot of curses. Don't we usually start at 100?

My friend began talking, oblivious to the blight now on our auras.

"One million curses on you." That's some bad ju-ju.

Meanwhile the subway preacher continues railing, having moved deftly from homosexuals to George Bush — the transition easier than one might think. I alight at Grand Army Plaza while he still has the devil on his mind.

Jacquelin Cangro