The quiet car, riding into the city, might as well be my sanctuary. The Hudson River racing to my left. Lounging on a cushy seat. Fifty minutes to myself.
The ritual ride into Manhattan brings a calm, old-school, newspaper vibe. Like my tee should be a suit coat, and my Bulls cap a fedora.
The old soul in me wishes I could travel across the country this way. Or across Europe one day. I wish that trains might continue to meander across the land. These 100 mph-plus trains strip the beauty away from the ride.
As my train gets into the city, I’ll savor this moment like the last bit of coffee in my cup.
And don’t hate on the language. That’s a layup.