Once one weekday morning I caught the train from the Broadway Junction stop, the intersection where the L line intersects with the A, C blue line, deep in Brooklyn. It was interesting to note the disparity of those who got on the train on this side of the fence as opposed to the stop on the farthest end on 8th avenue Manhattan. Here one could recognize the resigned, unaffected look of locals who had probably lived here all their lives and had the barely the time to contemplate or appreciate what irony meant or where once could find the latest fad band playing on a Tuesday evening. As the train moved deeper along the L westbound to Manhattan, one could now begin to make the visage of the Bushwick hipster, first Halsey, then Dekalb, where a young congregation dutifully followed each other with some remorse on their way to Monday morning vocations and the paycheck that they would spend later that weekend on their liberation. Of course that is not to say some of those getting on the train where duly impressed and happy with their lot and vocation and it showed because they had taken the liberty to take a shower before getting on the train. By the time we had entered the Lorimer/Metropolitan stop(which intersects with the G line) the train had begun to resemble the makeshift cattle call casting of a sober young America resolute on calling NYC their birthright.
One time whilst I was on the train, as we were approaching the Brooklyn bound first avenue stop a pair of Polish immigrant ladies, who were at this stage trying very hard to ignore the skimpy girls jostling into each other reached into their bags to offer one admittedly sickly looking passenger who had just gotten on a sandwich to eat. It was obvious to most of us, that the young individual who had bothered to turn up in his black stove pipe jeans and Iron Maiden ripped T shirt was attempting to affect a retro androgynous look that has become popular amongst many young men. In the end he declined the sandwich and stood there rather irritated until the train arrived at the next stop, where upon he beat a particularly hasty exit. The Polish ladies all the while had been glancing furtively at each other, eventually resigned to the idea that not even they with all their years of life could entirely understand the behavior of certain individuals.
In short the L line offers a beguiling regard of the hopes and aspirations of newly imported young America and their dispositions. Should you be inclined to catch the L line or even be in the position of enjoying its amenities on a regular basis perhaps it bears worth mentioning that your ride will rarely be an uneventful one. But of course most of you already know that.