What do you do when ink soaks through a magazine, when the law is on your trail, when your nose won’t stop dripping, and when you want to become mayor?

I hang around, yet I’m no thief, I sit on shoulders, chairs, or floors. I hold your keys, your cash, your grief, Before you step through out-bound doors.

Find me in a park, at the beach or bus stop. Put your face on me, a picnic or a tushy. But I don't promise to be soft or cushy.

What's the difference between a well dressed man on a unicycle and a poorly dressed man on a bike?

Once defined by a logical man as repetition with expected change, The common man may describe me as behaviour that is strange, Criminals may use to me to plea unsoundness of mind, But the clinical community have left this term long behind