This tale is not for the faint of heart. In other words, anyone that commutes daily on Metro North:
It’s been a fairly eventful few days in the typically fairly uneventful world of commuting. I was on the 5:46 out of Gotham Tuesday eve on an extraordinarily packed train.
So jammed was it that one could not really even stand comfortably in the vestibule. I stood in the aisle, with my back to a door leading into another car, hovering over people in the last two rows of the car.
It was a pain in the ass spot, especially with a series of people coming through the door at my back in search of a place to stand.
But the vantage point did provide me with one chuckle; when one of the guys seated in the last row took his wallet out to display his ticket, I noticed he had the classic Jules from Pulp Fiction “Bad Motherf*cker” wallet–you know, the one that Jules tells Tim Roth’s limey stickup artist to extricate from the schwag bag in the diner near the end (Or is it the beginning? They’re wearing shorts?!? Is Vincent Vega still alive?) of the movie.
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