On the Android signalling 7:55AM into the City. The NFI is 3.
I’m on this train on some personal business. A fellow traveler and friend recently received a coveted parking pass from the municipality to park closer to the station and closer to my path home. He sold it to me. So far, I’ve been parking using the temporary pass, but we just met up in the morning scrum and made the transaction. When I get home, I can throw away the piece of paper and adhere the sticker. Excellent.
I’m in the front quiet car, as usual. A woman who reminds me of Carol Channing is sitting right next to me. The 126 year old commuter is not interested in the rest of the crowd. She is diligently working on the New York Times crosswords.
Ok. It’s SRO this morning. There are two… girls – very young women – who are stuck in the aisle and either don’t know or don’t care that it is the quiet car. They are chattering, non-stop, about, like, everything. Theater youngins. They are totally ignorant to the fact that everyone in the car is about ready to lynch these two collegiates. Yet, we don’t have the energy or the heart to verbally abuse these two.
Non. Stop. Chattering. No point to be made. No Socratic argument to defend. If they stop talking, they may indeed die. If I could attach their jaws to a generator, I may be able to recharge my cell phone.
Also here are Olivia D’Abo, Abishek Bachaan, Marlee Matlin, and Dr. Sanjay Gupta. All are armed and aiming at the chatterboxes.
Happy Monday. Safe travels.