This is based on the days when I used to travel to work via one of the great, romantic railway journeys of the world, namely the F train, from Prospect Park to West 4th street. Every weekday morning I would spend an hour and a half, reading one of the great works of Tolstoy or Melville, whilst sandwiched between hedge fund managers and yeshiva bockers, or just staring at the ads for podiatrists and skin specialists.
Considering the number of persons crammed into the cars, it’s amazing how silent the train was. One could almost hear the sound of people turning the pages of that morning’s Times in the next car. It was exciting too. Every so often the train would lurch forward, and everyone topple onto the person next to them. Everyone would apologize profusely, then moments later the train would slam to a halt, and Wall Street bankers would take the opportunity to steal their neighbors wallets. Heady days.