The Future Is That Mountain — Albert Einstein once said that the definition for insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome each time. This is what I liken my daily commute to on the L Train. I swipe my card at the Graham stop, on the Manhattan bound side of the tracks, walk to the far end, towards what will be the back of the train and wait. Sometimes I read a book, other times it's just me and my old iPod. Always I look to see who's around me. It's always beautiful women. I recently became the mayor of the Dunkin' Donuts located directly next door to the entrance of the L Train on the north east corner of Graham and Metropolitan. This might seem like an arbitrary fact of my life, one that's not at all relevant to a review of the L Train from Brooklyn into Manhattan but for me it's symbiotic. One can not exist without the other for I, almost daily check into said Dunkin' and purchase at least one, if not two donuts, and a soda. So, after I consume random and unnecessary calories and carbs, not to mention sugar and fat, sugar which will be turned into empty calories ( i assume) I then walk down 28 or so steps into the innards of the intersection of Graham and Metropolitan, feeling fatter, somehow worse for the wear. There, below ground bathed in a light that's artificial and cold I stand, mouth agape and view beautiful women. Yes, this is a woman-centric post about a subway station, deal with it. Down below ground, one would assume that the rules are different. That for some reason, the normal rules of courting do not apply. Maybe, perhaps because of the foul light, the more than tepid atmosphere, and the lack of circulated air (aside from the wind from the moving train) that perhaps woman would be more susceptible to the advances of a fairly well-to-do man (who's also a chronic over-eater of donuts), who's in his late 20's who just wants a fair shake from a hot babe. So they're there, under ground. Standing in their oversized tank-tops, american apparel tights, the cowboy boots that are too big, sunglasses for days, hair askew, holding some vintage copy of Kafka's "the metamorphosis", hoping, like Pocahontas to be noticed. They're noticed, too. By me and by every other person who has the ignoble pleasure to live near that particular stop of the L Train. That motherfucking L Train which takes you past Lorimer and then to Bedford ave, with stops in the LES, 1st ave and 3rd ave, respectively next. The train that has the most missed connections on craigslist written about it. The train that is ironically almost twice as wide as every other train that currently runs on the MTA train lines. I must be insane to ride this train. This train, for all that its done for me, for all that I've earned and lost and loved is only worth two stars to me. "I've experienced better."