Riding

Subway cars in New York come in three versions: new, "green," and fabulous; sort-of old with the unfortunate interior colour scheme of yellow, orange and beige; and ancient, sketchy, take-your-life-in-your-hands-when-you-get-on-them cars.

For some reason, the cars on the R and V lines - the lines I ride on every day - have gone from the sort-of old version to the ancient and sketchy. So every morning and evening for the past couple of weeks, the ribbed stainless steel tube (circa 1970 or worse) pulls in to my stop with the ear-splitting squeal of metal-on-metal brakes (think of someone raking their fingernails down a chalkboard, only worse) with air conditioning that only works when it doesn't really need to.

Sometimes, I wait on the platform, hoping the next train will be the familiar ugly yellow and orange, but so far, no luck - just another ancient, rusty-roofed train each looking worse than the one before - if that's possible.

It's funny how our perspective changes in these circumstances. I used to lust after the new and fabulous trains, thinking I was relegated to second-class citizenry by having to ride on the ugly, semi-old cars. But now, oh how I have repented. I pray daily and hope fervently for the quick return of those beautiful yellow and orange trains.