Bottom Locker Blag!

The question isn't, " who is sitting next to you," or "who just got up." The question is: over the years, what dirt and grime has built up on that scratched, stained porcelain? Does that man in the $3000 Armani suit know that the last woman who sat there had soiled herself? Or maybe that 4 year old, in the midst of asking his mother why the sky is blue, hasn't realized that an hour ago a homeless man made that seat his pillow and discharged about a gallon of saliva on it during REM sleep. Who would want to sit in a seat that some gang member marked? "J Rulz" and the rest of the "dntwn boiz" own this seat on account of the sharpie and scratch graffiti they have become so proficient at.

Maybe the question aren't any of those at all. Maybe the question is, what history has built up into this seat? How many people have fallen in love in this seat, due to the fact that the cute girl next to them had fallen asleep and was accidentally resting her head on their shoulder? Perhaps a dance troupe used this seat has a prop in their last routine, in hopes that an executive producer would notice their talent and ask them to start a reality show. What writers spent the last of their ink in this seat, trying to capture the hope, despair, love and all the other emotions that seethed through this city and had been captured in the priority seating section. It is a delicate balance of physical filth and the past, the thoughts of previous generations etched into this tacky orange bench.

Man, it is so hard to pick a seat on the train.