The Face Of Every Man On The East Coast

Once again I find myself on the East Coast, the most baffling and inscrutable place in the world. I’m on a train, which is even more East Coast, and surrounded by men briskly brushing breakfast crumbs off of their cuffs before hauling out tiny little workstations and making makeshift trash cans out of the flimsy cardboard box their breakfast came in. They wear fleeces over a button-down and they sing to me! Their faces sing!!

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