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Oh no . . there on the bottom. It’s the #4215 E train car, where we met, our eyes making contact that evening after the tugboat race five years ago. You asked about my hat and . . . finally when I asked your phone number, you said that last four digits were the same as the ones in the car . . .
After that it was always “our car,” and if we spotted it again, our tingling was reason for immediate celebration . . . So why is #4215 on a barge in the Harlem River? Our anniversary comes up soon . . . in a little over a week . . .
Hmmm . . . why has the Cat loaded onto this barge as well? D’you suppose it’s too late to offer the MTA $$ to buy #4215 and set it up as a romantic diner in the mountains specializing in romantic snacking and wedding receptions? I’m sure that car possessed unique energy that predisposed riders to love. One ride with a platonic friend or even a stranger and . . . LOVE!
(Maybe overheard while sitting on a bench along the Harlem River.)