But it was those slogs on the 6 train that kept me going, the things I saw, the people I began to recognize. It was during those sticky fall days that I realized I could write a book about these people, about my move from idealistic perfect more-days-of-sun-per-year-than-miami Boulder to the big city. And so I started. I wrote chapters of my book on this train, noting the posters which advertised the "Good Day Dance" which in my humble opinion, was an adult version of Skinamarinky Dinky Dink. I noted the man I saw nearly everyday who looked vaguely like jesus. I watched a woman unpack and repack and entire suitcase of food (4,5 not 6 in full disclosure) and sweat profusely into a bag of dorritos which she inhaled in a matter of seconds.
I began to settle into my life in new york, I slowly but surely found joy in riding the subway, as it was a way to let go of control and read a book. People watch. You name it.
And now I almost look forward to the subway every day. But I think, in reality, that has to do with the A/C.