I’m at Coney Island. It’s somewhere past 3am， and the train idles here longer than expected. The city might not be sleeping， but I’m alone. The car doors hang open as we linger， cold February air pouring in. I’m freezing， wishing for extra socks and thanking God for my high-necked sweater.
It’s creeping toward 7am and I’m in Grand Central. As I’m brushing my teeth I’m 8）rattled， realizing how freshly homeless I must seem. No time for 9）introspection： a quick coffee， 10）bagel and a Twitter-enabled meetup with a local friend. We ride the train a bit together before he has to get to work.
午夜將近，我在西四站跳下車，在站台上伸伸雙腿，而在西村這邊，車站正因夜幕的降臨而熱鬧起來。男孩們和女孩們——還有女孩們和女孩們——無處不在，他們手捧玫瑰一路狂奔，盡情享受他們的夜晚。當我跳上另一輛列車，心裏模糊地希望能夠到達康尼島時，我注意到了一對情侶，他們今夜的高潮戲將會在站台上上演。
我很快便意識到想要在心裏記下我所見之人的故事是無用的。一個皺著眉頭的拉美人正拎著外賣回家。一個癡迷於iPod音樂的小孩坐在他麵露怯色的母親身邊。一個衣著皺巴巴的金融區交易員剛跳上車。每張麵孔都是一個故事，所以你很快就會將其忘卻。一種久經鍛煉的冷漠占據著主導地位——這裏沒有時間去關心其他任何事物。
我到了康尼島。已是淩晨三點多了，列車在這裏停留的時間比預期中要長。這座城市或許整夜未眠，但我卻隻身一人。當我們逗留於此時，車廂門一直敞開著，二月寒冷的空氣湧了進來。我快被凍僵了，一邊希望能多穿幾雙襪子，一邊感謝上帝自己穿了高領毛衣。
時間緩緩爬向早上七點，我來到了大中央車站。我在刷牙時感到有些慌張，意識到自己看起來肯定像極了一個新出爐的無家可歸者。沒時間反省了：匆匆地買了杯咖啡，一塊百吉餅，並發推特微博聯係了一個當地的朋友。在他不得不去上班之前，我們一起坐了一程。
I’m more than halfway in at this point， and fall soundly asleep for the first time， waking up hours later to sunshine and warmth somewhere in the Bronx.
I had put my cash and cards in my shoe from the start as a 11）precaution and am realizing now with just a few hours to go how safe I’ve felt throughout. The Book by Alan Watts carries me through the final hours， across Midtown， into Queens， in loops， everywhere.
I’ve managed to be an outsider on the New York subway—one at leisure， wandering into whatever train comes next on whatever platform， heading wherever. A 12）blitzed guy interrupts my wondering as he staggers back and forth， screaming his 13）dubious poll： “Are the ladies happy？ Hey！ Are the ladies happy？” But he’s not violent， just drunk—and so the ladies are happy.
The MTA is a paradox—this muscular， 14）resilient product of man that simple flooding rainwaters remind us is， actually， rather fragile.
It seems the system is really aging， but herein lies its beauties—still no real Internet presence in the underground areas； few bright， modern， wide spaces to 15）dwarf us in scale； lovely tile artwork and few flat， stained， concrete walls； Atlas-like I-beams creating spaces in New York for whispers of the old days， for the pre-plastic city to survive if only a little longer.