I hate those words.  As any NYC commuter who passes through Times Square to get to Grand Central knows, the subway shuttle is the morning commute equivalent of nails on a chalkboard.  In addition to being one of New York’s busiest subway stations, the shuttle possesses a unique ability to game city inhabitants - especially weary, pre-caffeinated ones.  While all other trains are systematic and arrive at a station only to continue the same direction a few seconds later, the shuttle is a total wild card.  When did the shuttle get here?  How much time do I have before it leaves?  Do I walk to the train or sprint like an idiot?  How much pride do I have this morning?  How much energy?  How much patience? 

This is a calculus I am faced with each morning at 7:50am, requiring more mental and physical agility than most challenges I’ll face for the rest of the day.  To make matters worse, there are three tracks on which the shuttle can arrive - 1, 3, and 4.  (What the hell happened to track number 2 anyway?)  1 and 3 are manageable, but track number 4 is some distance away and requires labrynthian navigation through a mass of disembarking passengers - creating a swimming upstream effect that not even a spawning salmon should have to endure.  (And the salmon get to copulate when the arrive at their destination - my reward is checking email)  I hate track number 4. 

In New York’s new anthem, Alicia says the streets will “make you feel brand new”, but she fails to comment on the underground.  While she’s upstairs getting her inspiration on, I’m getting a sinister smile from a train engineer who knows he holds all the cards, and can’t wait to slam the filthy car doors on my newly pressed tan suit.