I have a feeling that if I knew even the slightest thing about golf, this place would be thrilling. As it was, it was merely spectacular.
(Pebble Beach, CA)
Ted Hughes’ Birthday Letters is magnificent, but hard to read on the train. I picked it up for the first time in years this morning and wept on the 3 train. Missed my stop too.
Lest you think this display of emotion happens rarely, just yesterday I cried laughing on the 2 train. I was watching THE FOOT FIST WAY on my iPad. I think spit may have flown out my mouth and onto someone sitting nearby. Hopefully on clothing, not mouth. Sorry, ma’am.
My utter lack of “street face” is a bit embarrassing, but this kind of escapism sure beats getting annoyed by fellow passengers on a crowded train. Transcendence on the daily commute is not easy to come by.