I hopped on a 3 train at the New Lots terminus on Wednesday, and as the doors closed, I realized that I was THE ONLY PERSON IN THE CAR! I didn't know what to do--should I race up and down the center aisle? Swing from the poles? Do pull-ups on the bars? Sing? Scream at the top of my lungs? In the time it took my brain to cycle through the myraid options for extreme subway behavior, the train pulled into the Van Siclen Station, and I was joined by a pair of women, so in the end, I did nothing besides marvel at the quiet, roomy, sunlit car. Still, I could have (though had I dared take up more than one of the 44 seats available to me, I might well have been ticketed).
Beyond my various, nefarious plans for making a scene all by myself, the only other thought that ran through my head in my brief, solitary respite (so different from the 4 train sardine crush every morning as to feel positively otherwordly) was "damn, this car is bigger than my apartment." I don't know whether the MTA would sell me an R62, but if they would, I think I could doll-it up Boxcar Children style and make it into a heckuva pad.