Taking a moment to breathe in the freshly acrid aroma of cleaning solution, which is overpowered only Airport by Alessio Romano by dozens of double grande half-calf soy mocha lattes, I step into Boston’s infamous two-dollar amusement park. Having brought with me no second-hand newspaper, no iPod, and not a single copy of whatever most people are reading in Freshman English this semester, I feel a bit out-of-place. I find a slightly sticky seat amongst the suits, the studious, and the overwhelmingly sleepy commuters to endure a jerky journey through the city in the belly of this steel beast. Riding on a train this early in the morning somehow conjures memories of grey-haired sages-asking for tickets and shouting “aboard” with all of their half-enthused fury. Perhaps I am even sitting in a relatively spacious compartment enjoying the countryside and getting to …
