The train doors open. We board the Q cool as a pinstripe suit, we use different doors, scattering ourselves randomly about the car. As the doors close I become painfully aware of the fact that I would never make it in any sort of espionage work; the excitement terror and anticipation burn on my face clear as a babies conscience. It takes all my effort to keep the corners of my mouth from curling up in a smile. This is going to be a train ride unlike any other. There is something terrifically terrifying and deeply liberating about sharing your art with a car full of unsuspecting commuters who have not asked for it. Perfect strangers going about their separate endeavors, headed in different directions unified for a time by the complete happenstance that they find themselves on this particular Saturday afternoon, to be on this specific train, in this exact car, at this...
