Category Archives: Open Letter

An Open Letter To:

The lady exiting the 6 train with the ‘Rush’ patch on her backpack. Rush? Really? So you were the girl at the Rush concert at Nassau Coliseum in ’86, at Providence Civic Center in ’89, back at the Coliseum in … Continue reading

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An Open Letter To:

The man reading Coaching Baseball For Dummies on the train last night. First of all, best of luck in what surely sounds like your rookie season as a Little League manager. You’re a young man of about 35, brown hair, … Continue reading

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An Open Letter from Jersey Jim To:

The Suburbs. It is late March, Suburbs. Why do you still have a Christmas wreath on your front door? I can see you from here. Oh, okay, Suburbs…I hear ya…those are NOT Christmas decorations. It really is a “Winter Welcome … Continue reading

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An Open Letter To:

The Man Who Put on the Necktie While Standing on the 6 Train. You were a short fellow, Asian, black hair flecked with gray. I’d say you were 45. You got on the 6 at 42nd Street and illuminated the car … Continue reading

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An Open Letter To:

The Public Address Guy at Grand Central. Please, please please stop calling Stamford “Stam FORD.” Despite the way it’s spelled, it’s pronounced Stam-ferd, and the accent is on the first syllable. But that doesn’t matter to you. No, every day, … Continue reading

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An Open Letter To:

The Man Who Tried the Emergency Door After I Did at 28th Street Yesterday. We spilled out of the 6 train, a few hundred of us. We waited (im)patiently for our chance to slide through the handful of turnstiles standing between us … Continue reading

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An Open Letter To:

My newspaper deliverer “Dolores L.” It’s not the first time I’ve written to you, Dolores L. As I’ve asked more than a handful of times in the past year, where was my New York Times this morning? Sure, it had snowed and rained … Continue reading

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An Open Letter To:

The House With the McCain-Palin Sign That I Passed En Route to the Train Today. You’re a smallish white house on a decent corner lot on the corner of Memorial Drive and Atlantic. You’re essentially non-descript, except for the blue … Continue reading

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An Open Letter To:

The “Man” Sprinting From the 6 to the 4 At Grand Central This Morning. The 4 express had been at the platform for a moment, its doors open. The 6 pulled up at 9:33 this morning. You–very white male, 40, … Continue reading

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An Open Letter To:

The Black Mustang Parked Across From My Bike at the Train Station This Morning. It’s impossible not to notice the giant decal on your rear window, a blue cursive admonishing all within your range to “Fear This.” You’re an ’86 … Continue reading

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