Everyone's Going To Brooklyn

If you ever take the A from Fulton Street into Brooklyn you’ll know that the entire trip, whether it is simply the single stop to High Street or the grand tour to the end of the line, starts with a sense of desolation and despair in a dank hole with dour lighting and never really gets better, as each successive second you spend loping listlessly into Brooklyn brings mounting dread and the increasing certainty that life is a cruel joke in which you are both subject and punchline and that even as desperate as you felt waiting for the train in the first place — as sad and agitated and hopeless and bereft of joy — it was probably going to be the best part of your day. So you have to imagine that this furry visitor at least offered its fellow riders a brief break from their own thoughts. Which is nice.