I don't know why we continue to stare at the empty dark tunnel when waiting for the train. It's like staring at an ass trying to determine how the digestion's going.
Four G trains have passed. No F.
No announcements.
A once desolate, deserted Church Avenue platform is now littered with the entrails of four G train cargoes.
Incoherent message by a clearly speech-impaired/intoxicated/demented MTA worker:
mumble-Jay Street-mumble-G-mumble-Stillwell.
Thanks, assholes.
I was wondering how to spend my evening, but you took care of that right quick.
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