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There exists a certain kind of solidarity among cold- and late-night riders on any weekday or Sunday. Bus, subway or city train. It’s silent, warm and sympathetic in the way fellow travellers are acknowledged when they get off and vanish into the dark world outside. Whoever split time surely realized that seven days and their subdivision would have more of an impact on humans than the discovery of any new continent. The whispered yet enthusiastic conversation was along these lines, “You’ve got to hand it to it. Busses have their advantages. The subway stops all the time even if there’s no one to get on or off. Buses can just keep going.” “Yes, but there’s traffic lights.” “On the subway, too. You never got stuck in between stations? Look at us now. Just not stopping. Who the hell gets on and off at these god-forsaken stops in the middle of the night?” (And then one did.)


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