I started packing up my spent newspapers as the train pulled into the Grand Central tunnel around 9 this morning. I realized I had an empty Sam Adams bottle in my knapsack that I’d neglected to throw out on the ride home last night; I thought my bag felt a tiny bit heavier, but just chalked it up to not having been in a gym since Emily’s Reasons Why Not was still on the air.

Leaving the relative privacy of my 1-3/4 seat cubby, I stood up and crept toward the door, where my fellow riders were massed.

The train crawled towards 42nd. My commuting brethren took me in as I approached. To a man (and woman), their eyes zeroed in on the empty bottle in my hand, then back to my face, wondering all the while what would compel a man to pop open a brew on the morning train.

I let loose a boozy belch and shrugged my shoulders.

(OK, that last part didn’t really happen.)