an open letter to the G train.

Dear G Train,

I know, I've been seeing your friends F and E on a more regular basis, and it's not that they're better than you, but they have what I need. They go out to the city with me and don't care what time I come home. But you, you were my old standby. That's what makes this so hard.

We go back a long way, you and I. Remember when I was twelve and we went to the mall for the first time? That was great, wasn't it? Or that time I got stranded in Brooklyn when I was sixteen and my only beacon of hope was your illuminated green logo? It was magical.

But things changed when you moved out of Forest Hills.

You got too hip for your old digs and started catering exclusively to those Brooklynites. Sure, they're your bread and butter, but Queens was your heart and soul, baby. Every hipster from Greenpoint to Park Slope would rag on you, but I stood by you, G train--they didn't know you like I did, or so I thought.

The past day was the last straw, sweetheart. I thought we could pick things up where they left off, but you dropped the ball big time. All I needed was a few hours of your time to get me through Brooklyn and all you did was laugh at me. Fifteen minute wait at Court Square. Twenty minute wait at Smith/9th. And then, like a slap in the face, a thirty five minute wait at Nassau this morning. And then, to top it off, you have E clean up your mess and go local from Roosevelt to Forest Hills--that's just icy.

I don't know what to do with you. You're my link to second favorite borough but you just make it so hard to love you. You're dirty, you smell funny, you're continuously late and, frankly, you move like molasses, but I miss you.

Please, lets not fight anymore. I know you're never coming back to Queens, but...I still want to see you. Just don't make me regret it.


With much love and sorrow,

Al Rossin.