Banksy

So here I am, on the PATH, on my way to check out the new Banksy graffiti in lower Manhattan. I'm really excited, these are all brand new pieces, the spray paint probably still aromatic.  I never remember to check out his art when I'm traveling, but now it's right here.  He said they'll be popping up all October, and with a toll-free number next to them that plays a recording of his commentary, like a museum guided tour.   His work is full of childish whimsy, which is typically lost when acquiring such a knack for social and political commentary.  It's sorta like a much more subversive Gary Larson.  I wonder if anyone has made that connection before?  Of course someone has, it's so obvious.  They probably wouldn't even bother to say it, it's such a shallow observation.  I'll give it the google test though, just to be sure.  Yep, well documented.

So it's at Allen and Canal St.  Chinatown.  Should I walk all the way there from World Trade to really get into the rhythm of the street and maybe recreate the moment of inspiration?  There are no crosstown trains to Chinatown anyway, remember when we learned that rushing for the Chintatown bus home that time?  Shit, maybe I should have taken that. But then I'd be stuck leaving the city by 10:30, and now that I'm unemployed, I can stay as late as I like. Plus I'd miss all this urban decay only viewable from the train.  Look at all those abandoned warehouses in those lots of cracked asphalt overgrown with tall grass along the Hudson, it's so toxic and post-apocalyptic.  I wonder how I would get there, there are no roads.  How would Banksy get there?  That whole building would be perfect for a Banksy piece, how many people would see it... 250,000 per day on average, according to sources.  I wonder what used to happen in that building? I wonder what their layoff notices were like?

The toll-free number is on his website... should I call it?  No, I should start trying to get into the right frame of mind. Banksy captures the human condition, the very same human condition that surrounds me in this train car.  I can see it in these people around me, all fish-eyed looking at their devices.  They need someone like Banksy to remind them of what they've all lost... by no fault of their own, of course.  I mean, what I've seen of Banksy's work he is very action-positive.  Action-positive can be a thing, right? That we can all make a choice to allow the world to affect us?  That it's not just all escapist Mickey Mouse culture? That we can do something, regardless of how ephemeral and insignificant?

It's 11:30 in the morning on a Wednesday.  I wonder how many people are victims of layoffs trying to explore the city in a way their 9-5 never permitted.  Those look like students, they seem busy and optimistic, and their faces are still taut, unworn by the "real world".  There's a tired woman with three children... why aren't they in school?  Do people wear ties to explore the city?  Do people take the subway to a job interview?  I wonder if there are other people from the Merck layoffs.  Can I claim solidarity with them even though I quit without notice after the announcement?  And I was just in the customer service pit?  Banksy says, "If you don't own a train company, then go and paint on one instead".  That's totally what sending that email felt like.  I guess since I have few responsibilities and am free to derail my life's course, it was my duty to use myself as a tiny wrench in the gears.  I'm sure that the groups I blind cc'd appreciated it, and that I did what they want to do, but had no way to show it that wouldn't get them in trouble.  That's what going to admire Banksy's street art is for me.  Showing my appreciation for that feeling of tiny revolution inside of me he sparks.

Should I listen to the recording at the number? Is that cheating?  Whatever, it's too distracting, I should just do it.  "...it's probably painted over by now".  That'd suck.  But wait, who is going to paint over it?  Especially with all the publicity for the city this is sure to draw.  I wonder if there will be police nearby guarding the wall.  What if there's a crowd?  Haha, maybe I'll take pictures of people taking pictures and post it on my blog.  No, that's too obvious, there'll probably be people doing that, too.  I'll make a people-watching project out of it and take pictures of people taking pictures of people.  Scratch that, I'm gonna feel too self-conscious taking pictures of anything, and I'd hate to have someone approach me and ask for an account of myself.  Maybe I'll look at the wall next door or across the street, sort of like performance art. No, that's stupid.  I'll just go to the restaurant across the street and have lunch, then go join the crowd. I'm hungry.  I don't really want Chinese though. If Banksy is lampooning museum tours, maybe I should go to the MoMA first.  I've always wanted to see the MoMA anyway, and they close, whereas I'm sure Banksy's piece will still be there later.  I'll hop on the 1 and head uptown, there will be more dining options there.  Today is awesome!

Pants-Free Light Rail Ride

I'm sitting (as usual) at Fair Trade Cafe watching the people gathered for the annual pants-free light rail ride at the station across the street. I have a complete panoramic view of the Roosevelt/Central Ave light rail platform, and there has formed one big congregation of people in their underwear either enthusiastically talking about how absurd and random they are being and what people who aren't aware of this annual tradition must be thinking, or they are enthusiastically intentionally avoiding the obvious subject to capitalize on the opportunity to add an extra layer to the random wackiness. About 5 yards from that large group of people is a girl, also in her underwear, standing by herself reading a book. Now, I am exceptionally bad at determining what women are thinking, but that has never stopped me from trying. There are two general scenarios that start as she arrived at the platform, which I will try to capture. From what I can gather about her appearance, she is around 21, at least in college if not graduated, and trapped between the parallel mirrors of spending money on clothes to make her look poor but not wanting to look actually poor so as to attract other people with enough money to want to look poor so they can look poor together. Blue-green underwear, evenly pasty complexion, good metabolism, walks a lot, but hasn't set foot in a gym since her Self-Esteem Crash of 2006. She approaches the platform and it is one of two scenarios.

She arrives with her pants off and observes the crowd:

"Ok good, I'm not the only one doing this. Shit, did I date that guy? Better stay away, that'd be so fucking awkward if that was him. I'll read this book to seem unavailable."

Or, she arrived with her pants on and observes the crowd:

"Wait... oh, that's today? Shit, I wanted to do that, too! I guess I still could. If I take out this book, I'd totally have enough room in my bag for these pants. Yeah! (She turns away from the platform and walks down a side street) Ok, I just need to find somewhere private to take off my pants and... wait, what am I talking about? I just need something to lean on, right? Though I don't want to attract attention... That car with the thumping bass would probably yell at me. Maybe I shouldn't do this. No, fuck that, I wussed out last year and regretted it. I'll just step into the double-doors of this office building and... why am I doing this? What good could possibly come of this? Is it a cool story? Will I make new friends? Get a date? I'm not doing this just for a Facebook status update, right? I guess it's just one of those bucket list things. This building looks empty, if I could just get through the door... it's Sunday, it's probably locked. What if there are cameras? Or people? Is it weird that I'm doing this alone? Fuck it, I'll just take off my pants on the platform and it won't be awkward. Ok. I gotta get psyched for this and make sure everyone sees! (approaches platform again and once there, removes pants in a bold grandiose gesture, takes a large book out of her bag and replaces it with the pants) I don't think anybody was paying attention. Shit. I was hoping someone would cheer me on and welcome me to the group. Maybe I was trying too hard. Dammit! Now I'm standing here. With no pants on. Holding this book that I'm not reading that no longer fits in my purse. (30 seconds go by) I feel weird standing here holding this large book in my hands. I don't want to read it, I finished reading it yesterday. I need something to do right now until the train arrives and I can sit down and feel less self-conscious. I guess I could read the last chapter over again, I kinda rushed it yesterday. (She opens the book and stares at the pages until the train arrives.) Wait... These seats are filthy.

On the Verge of Coherence

When I drove into the city for work every day, I was forced into a practical and analytical mindset before even entering the building. Planning my route according to traffic reports, monitoring speed limits, merging, BBC news on NPR, finding parking, calculating whether it is cheaper to feed a meter all day or use a parking garage, figuring out the fastest walking route or which bus to use to get from wherever I end up parking to my office... It was a warm up often more challenging than the job I had at the time, whatever that was. People like me could land a decent position back then, the job market was less competitive. Then again any job market can be described as nothing short of dystopia to a prematurely jaded recent college grad who is holding onto dreams of being a rock star despite a complete lack of focus and a hair line that was even then showing signs that it would soon recede. I was just grateful to be done with retail, construction, bartending, and the other undergrad employment options. My degree was an inconsequential side effect of years of indecisive debauchery, and my career goals were commensurate with that. Specifically, I had no ambitions past moving out of my parents house and into some urban space that probably had one brick wall and some outdated heating system that involves steam and large metal coils that were prone to vibrating all night... y'know, so I could more accurately imitate the lives I found featured in books, movies, and magazines. As the stress of driving to work got to me, I learned that commuting to Philadelphia from the Jersey suburbs via public transit was a filth-caked luxury in comparison. Not only did it cost about the same as driving with far less stress, I also had options like reading books, people watching, or even active courtship. I rarely participated in the latter, but I did witness some really gratifying unions where two obnoxious people mercifully removed each other from the local dating pool. My personal favorite was also the most frequently encountered: Two attractive people generally a few years older than I was at the time who've never met... wearing B-list designer outfits whose name ends in a vowel from Lord & Taylor (the guy) or something with incendiary sleeve placement and a skirt with faded orchids, oleanders, and clippings from an Andulusian newspaper circa 1916 from Anthropologie (the girl) that will eventually be worn by actual cool people twenty years from now(1). After an ice breaker and 3-5 sentences they are sitting next to each other talking about other countries they've visited (2). I suspect that they always wear at least one attention-grabbing article of clothing or accessory purchased overseas to increase the likelihood of manipulating the conversation in that direction. Eager to impress, they treat their trips to Europe like an $8.99 prime rib special. They give rehearsed depictions of glass pyramids like an all you can eat pancake offer, and of course unlimited free refills of camaraderie in Nepal. After being exposed to this for several months, I acquired a discerning appreciation for the nuances of schadenfreude, which was becoming less recreational and more of a lifestyle.

So every day I was inhabiting these ambient domains for an hour or so before arriving at work, occupying this head-space of literature and ego-biased people watching. My daily transition from this to cold hard data analysis was in need of some sort of segue. In the absence of this segue, I find the jolts of reality and the impact of concrete demands begin having a strange effect. My brain acquired a goaltender to protect me from reality and responsibilities so I could continue hopping between incomplete lofty thoughts. With this entry-level position, work-related decisions are basically made for me by logic and numbers. I had no interest in advancement, so I just coasted through every day, trying to imitate the behavior and vocabulary of coworkers. Sometimes I felt wretched, but usually I didn't feel anything at all.

After work I backtrack to return to the speed line. I pass through Rittenhouse Square, a standard issue urban park featuring statues, grass, and a defunct fountain. Sometimes I like to hang around and feel like part of the atmosphere as I read, reflect, and of course look fuckin' cool. The park benches that aren't occupied by the homeless are in high demand, so I often end up in the grass, which is the choice for the young people anyway. I sit amongst the artists and students, precisely the bohemian crowd you'd expect to find in this setting(3). I experienced frequent epiphanies at these times, each one contradicting the previous. I feel like the outsider at the park as the only guy wearing a long-sleeve dress shirt and a tie in the summer, and I feel like the outsider at work because nobody else sits in the park and reads Russian literature after hours. Am I the only person with both perspectives? Am I just surrounded by pods?

Aside from all that, I don't accomplish much in the grass on these afternoons. Sometimes I splurge a little and consider dinner at one of the local restaurants, though I am never successful. Every single time I wander the surrounding blocks (which feature most of the best the city has to offer) all I do is find reasons to doubt each eatery until I give up and just get pizza at one of several places near the speed line entrance. It doesn't feel like defeat until I struggle to open the door with two plates in my hands because I'm too self-conscious to eat at a booth by myself. Even more aggravating is groping for my ticket for the subway. I always thought that the "no eating on the train" rule was just an excuse for the cops to persecute the homeless. Not that I read about it or heard it at a cafe or in a song lyric or that I am even prone to making these sort of connections myself, but that I like to imagine that the world is full of clear injustices that I can focus my idealogical outrage on. The fact that I get away with eating pizza on the platform serves as proof that my theory is valid, and the resulting sense of pride and vindication engulfs both the personal failure of eating the same damned pizza as usual as well as the enjoyment of my pizza.

One morning, I am running a little late to work. This has been becoming the norm lately, so the excuses were becoming more like desperate pitches for spin-offs of sitcoms on the CW. Well on this day I don't even have the energy to focus my thoughts and make something up. I try as I sit on the train, but just as I start to form an idea the train goes underground and makes calling work impossible, and by the time it resurfaces it would no longer make sense to use that excuse. I try to think of another excuse, but find myself distracted as I approach Rittenhouse Square. I was later than usual, and apparently at this hour the park is full of ostensibly unemployed or self-employed artists/freelancers walking their dogs. Puffy-eyed from insomnia and from being over thirty... incoherent from years of substance abuse or from being around too many incoherent people... their t-shirts look like expensive relics from someone elses childhood, their sweaters belong to an ex boyfriend's ex girlfriend, their arms are as limp as the dog's leash as they clean up the warm mess and move on.

I decide to say I locked my keys and my phone in the car, thus explaining why I was late and didn't even bother to call. Fortunately nobody had any follow up questions or remarks. I couldn't tell if nobody cared, or if my excuse was so unbearably transparent that they just wanted me out of their face. Either way, I win! I celebrate by treating myself to pizza after work. I took it with me to the park and sat in the grass. People-watching over a meal is great because nobody notices you staring at them when you're shoving food in your mouth. I notice that the bohemians in the grass are just younger versions of the people I saw earlier. I can see them now, balding and stretched out with dark circles around their eyes, walking their neurotic dogs and using the bag their vegan breakfast burrito came in to clean up the crap in the... in the grass. My pizza is on my lap, but both palms are on the ground. I smell my left hand... garlic powder. Then I smell my right hand. Then I throw my pizza out. I walk a lap around the fountain in the middle of the park... I am facing the dry fountain, but I am staring at the people in the grass. Do they need to be made aware of this? I consider the symbolism... "look what your future selves have left for you, don't follow their footsteps, it's not too late to change," etc. I think about how clear and tangible the premises and conclusion were to what I learned today, especially in comparison to rest of the conclusions I've drawn lately about the people, society, myself, etc. What a bunch of bullshit. Then I remember that I still have dog shit on my hands. I walk into a nice restaurant and use the bathroom... and since I'm once again in need of a meal, I ask to be seated.


(1) Not just their style of designer clothes, but the specific garments that they they own and are wearing as they speak. I see some of the same people every day and their clothes are always immaculately pressed, exactly as advised to in articles found in GQ or Esquire... so I imagine they'll be in pretty good shape in twenty years.

(2) For some reason they tend to start out one horizontal row apart and on the opposite side of the aisle (basically one checkers move) from each other, as though they sat just outside of comfortable conversation distance because they were initially feeling shy, but then one decides to finally lean over and start a conversation.

(3) It is tempting to characterize them some more by their specific tastes in music, drink, and irony... but I think that has been done to death. Specifically, I think anybody reading this would already have an image in their head, making any further details unnecessary.

Rainbow Unicorn

Immediately before he went to bed, Mark purchased a coupon: $10 for $17 worth of food from groupon.com to this new downtown vegan cafe called The Rainbow Unicorn*. The terms and conditions for the coupon are as convoluted as the relationship he just got out of and therefore a liability if used in the presence of others, but he is determined to use it on a date regardless. See, his ex was as finicky, uptight, and judgmental as they come, so he was trying to find someone more laid back as a rebound. The type who would enjoy a vegan restaurant and wouldn't get bent out of shape if he used a difficult coupon. Imbued with his new purpose to distract him from the pain he'd recently experienced, Mark was kept awake by thoughts of wide-eyed girls with colorful clothing, directionless conversations and laughter, and condition-free sex with no follow-up questions aside from those with no wrong answers. Despite the restlessness, he woke up well before any hippie chick he could imagine would and read up on current events so he would have something to talk about other than heartbreak and consumer electronics.

That morning on the light rail, Mark didn't even need to try maintaining the enlightened glow he was rehearsing that morning in the bathroom mirror, which is for the better because it actually looked more like a self-righteous smirk than anything else. Most men bemoan the way beautiful women only seem to notice them when they are in committed relationships. While this may be true, there are other instances where men appear downright radiant to the opposite sex, and those times are never mentioned because they aren't as much fun to complain about. One example of this radiance is the phase Mark is in right now. Mark is glowing and perfectly content not because of a woman, but because of himself and his joyful anticipation. He experiences bliss almost equal to a sexual release just from taking a deep breath and fixing his posture. It feels like his spine extends and pushes his head up to the ceiling, and when he opens his eyes he meets the relaxed smile of lips so pouty that such a smile should appear forced, and wide sapphire eyes with no discernible ability to close until somehow her eyelids travel down for a blink. There was plenty to be skeptical about between her eyes and her lips, but in that instant Mark only notices her tribal motif and buffet-style simple elegance, and still near the beginning of his exhale he compliments her necklace as though that was his intention all along. He couldn't tell if her necklace was made with bones or petrified wood or lacquered recycled board game pieces, any of those items could find themselves dangling from her extremities or resting on the ramp leading towards her unbound but nonetheless remarkable breasts. Before long, he is missing his stop so he can listen to the brief narratives associated with her personal possessions, all of which seem to have resulted from road trips and personal discovery. The train is at the first traffic light in Tempe when she mentions her beliefs about eating locally and sustainably grown food, and how she volunteers to help out on farms in Wilcox once per month. Just as he was about to run out of clean ways to express his amusement, Mark seizes in on the opportunity. "Speaking of which," he says, "have you heard of The Rainbow Unicorn Cafe?" She shakes her head without expression but without breaking eye contact. He continues with a bright chipperness that betrays a lack of social awareness, "Yeah, it's this new vegan restaurant that only uses locally grown ingredients! Only things that grow in Arizona. It's the Rainbow Unicorn!" Now she clutches her bag and looks at the floor. "Umm, ok. You don't have to be sarcastic." This is not what Mark expected. His frivolity is deflating, but traces of it can still be heard as he says, "I'm sorry, what do you mean?" She continues, "I get it, you're saying 'If you want to find locally grown produce in Arizona, it is like looking for a rainbow or a unicorn'." "No, that's not it at all!" "Well then what did you mean? That I'm just some shallow hippie dippie flower child who collects funky jewelry and goes to places called 'The Rainbow Unicorn'?" Mark tried to explain, "No, The Rainbow Unicorn is a real place, it's a restaurant downtown", but it was of no use. "Don't insult my intelligence," she said. "Nobody would put all the time and effort into opening a restaurant and then blow it all by calling it 'The Rainbow Unicorn'. I give people more credit than that." The train slowed down as she stood up, clearly to leave, but he was still trying to salvage the situation. "I swear, it's a real place! It exists! I don't have any proof of it, but I know it does!" She disembarks without further comment. At least there was one more stop before the end of the line, otherwise he'd have been forced to get off the train and either hang out at the platform, implicitly admitting that he missed his stop just to talk to her, or he could leave the platform and pretend that was his stop and walk briskly across the street like he was going somewhere and then eventually go back to the station once the girl was out of sight. Mark wonders which of those he would have done as he texts his boss to say he is going to be a little late.

Mark boards the next westbound train feeling basically the exact opposite of the sensation from earlier. It is now mid-morning, most of the passengers are either college students or people with undesirable jobs and maybe a few people who were too hung over to wake up on time for their desirable jobs. Mark doesn't want to talk to anybody, so he sits in a corner in order to make sure that he will have at least one unoccupied side to turn towards and take a nap. Just as he starts to find a comfortable day dream, a girl asks the time. She wasn't addressing anybody in particular, but Mark was closest. He read the exact time from his phone, turning his head towards her without looking, and she was elbow-deep in her purse and didn't even acknowledge his answer for at least twenty seconds. He didn't hear her reply at all, but it did sound inarticulate and friendly so after a few seconds, he focused his vision and turned toward her to reply. They had a friendly and inarticulate conversation that seemed to mention a few cartoon characters, the uselessness of certain kitchen items, and a small town off I-40 in Arkansas that they both had a bad experience in. It was like pillow talk, as though they were distracted by the magnitude of something that just drained their energy. Anything seemed acceptable at this point, so Mark asked if she wanted to meet at the Rainbow Unicorn Cafe sometime. She agreed with easy enthusiasm, like accepting a bowl of popcorn. They exchanged numbers as Mark got off at his stop.

Their interactions were so care-free, Mark wondered if the "1-day" rule for calling someone even applied. He debated the issue until a day had gone by anyway, and he asked if she wanted to meet there on Thursday. She said anytime after 5 was ok. He printed his coupon at work using their expensive color printer, and the Rainbow Unicorn emblem looks very high-concept, so he decides to call ahead to reserve a table. When nobody answers, he imagines they must be very busy indeed... though he is a bit confused when a generic recording reads their phone number because they haven't set up their voice mail yet. He leaves a message anyway, and when he shows up at 5 a table is available for him. After fifteen minutes, he sends her a text message to make sure she wasn't lost, but receives no response. Just to occupy himself, he asked the hostess about his coupon and what the terms and conditions mean. It was about 5:30 when he got an answer, and that was when the girl from the light rail arrived and apologized for her lateness as she went behind the counter. She wasn't apologizing to him, but to the hostess. He could have prevented a very awkward moment if he thought before saying, "Wait, you work here?!" She responded, "Oh yeah, I thought you knew that." Then she paused and looked up from the utensils she was wrapping and said, "OH! You wanted to meet here... Ohhhhhh... um, sorry?" Normally, Mark would leave this alone and find answers within his own thoughts, but something snapped in him. "Wait. What about me asking if you want to 'meet at The Rainbow Unicorn Cafe sometime' indicates that I somehow knew you worked here? That doesn't make any sense." She was caught off guard and paused, then said, "Well I thought maybe you saw me here before or something and just wanted to stop by." Marks eyebrows couldn't possibly arch any more inward, but he still tried and said, "But what in anything I said even remotely implied that I knew where you worked?" She looked up at him once again and said, "I guess I don't know. Would you like me to get you anything?" As Mark left with his $5 smoothie, he started to guess at the nature of their easy exchange on the light rail and wanted nothing to do with it anymore. That confrontation made him realize that with personalities, you make trade-offs no differently than you do with consumer goods, career choices, and everything else in the world. He boarded the light rail and ripped up his coupon in dramatic fashion, which meant that he had to clutch the unmanageable remnants of the two-page coupon until he reached his stop. Sitting perfectly still with his elbows resting on his knees and his head resting on his fists scarcely closed around bits of paper featuring a colorful high-concept emblem, he prayed this wouldn't lead to a conversation.



* In case you are reading this and aren't familiar with the Phoenix "metro" area, this place actually exists. While I may also be lightly satirizing the mores of vegan restaurants in general, I am not making up that name to be funny. If I were to use a parody name, I would certainly try to be more clever. This is an actual vegan restaurant/gallery space that is actually called The Rainbow Unicorn.

Most Unappealing Conversations in History Part 4: Canned Fruit & Other Secret Agendas

Scene: Subway train. Enough space so that people can have one empty seat to each side, but not much more. It helps to imagine Person 1 with the voice of Coach McGirk from Home Movies.

Person 1) "What ever happened to canned fruit cocktail, anyway?"

Person 2) "Excuse me?"

P1) "Sorry, I know I'm being that guy who just starts talking without considering your agenda. God forbid you have your own thoughts. I know, I hate it when people do that too. Whatever. I just noticed the Del Monte can through your plastic bag there and felt nostalgic for a second, that's all. I'll let you alone."

P2) "Oh no that's alright, I was just startled, that's all. You aroused me unexpectedly from my public transit coma, I suppose."

P1) "Yeah"



P2) "You said you'll 'let' me alone instead of 'leave'... my grandmother used to say that."

P1) "I mean, it's probably not even fruit cocktail, right?"

P2) "Huh?"

P1) "In your bag. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want. I can read a little bit of the label, is it mandarin orange slices?"

P2) "Uh, peaches."

P1) "Ahhh yeah... they were part of it, though. The fruit cocktail, I mean. Let's see, it was... peaches, pears, pineapple, green grapes, and cherries."

P2) "Yeah... and syrup."



P1) "What was your favorite?"

P2) "My favorite? The pears, I guess..."

P1) "Really? Not the cherries?"

P2) "Well everybody chooses the cherries."

P1) "Look, we're not talking about your hypothetical 'rooting for the underdog' opinion here. You're not a social worker for neglected canned goods, are you? Which do you actually like?"

P2) "Alright, cherries, obviously. What are you getting at?"

P1) "Nothing! I'm not getting at anything! Does there have to be something to get at? I just noticed your fruit can and it reminded me of my childhood, that's all. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

P2) "I don't mind talking about it at all. I'm bored and honestly I wish there were more spontaneous conversations like this on the subway... but I feel like there's like an inside joke I'm missing or something. Does "canned fruit cocktail with cherries" have another meaning I'm unaware of?"

P1) "Nope. At least not as far as this conversation is concerned."

P2) "Well supposing that is true... it is just an especially random topic. I know that subway conversation is generally about unexpected and unlikely topics, but this just doesn't strike me as-"

P1) "Doesn't having a 'list' of unexpected topics kinda defeat the purpose? Fruit cups are exactly something that would be subway discussion."

P2) "I was thinking more like why do books still have quotes from articles written about the book printed on the cover when everybody assumes the quotes are taken out of context or are from a questionable source... or old video game systems perhaps. Something other than this subway ride that we all have in common."



P1) "Yeah, I haven't read any books in a while..."

P2) "I haven't read as much as I'd like to. I always say that with all this time taking public transit, I should read more than I do. When I first moved into the city, I easily was reading a book every week, but I've slowed down in the past year or two."

P1) "My younger brother used to steal the cherries. I mean, whatever, he was only like 6 or 7, but y'know... if habits like that aren't ever confronted it could snowball into some pretty serious stuff."

P2) "I know what you mean, I live with my brother and we get in each other's hair sometimes. He's the one who recommended I try this short series of thrillers by this Swedish author, and I think that maybe a little honesty on the back cover about how slowly the story progresses in the beginning wouldn't deter anybody, as long as we know there's a payoff."

P1) "My brother is very successful and I'm proud of him."

P2) "Oh that's good. I wonder why they can't just tell us that sometimes the amount of detail the author gives is discouraging. I mean, I would still buy it!"

P1) "My roommate reminds me of my brother when he sneaks into my leftovers in the fridge at night and takes out the best parts of my food. I don't know how he guesses that the broccoli is my favorite part of any dish I make. I mean, I guess it's pretty obvious that I like broccoli, I always have it around, you think he'd guess that I like it and just leave it alone."

P2) "Maybe he just thinks that because you have so much of it, you wouldn't mind sparing some."

P1) "What? ... ... No."

P2)"This is my stop"