If you ever take the A from Fulton Street into Brooklyn you'll know that the entire trip, whether it is simply the single stop to High Street or the grand tour to the end of the line, starts with a sense of desolation and despair in a dank hole with dour lighting and never really gets better, as each successive second you spend loping listlessly into Brooklyn brings mounting dread and the increasing certainty that life is a cruel joke in which you are both subject and punchline and that even as desperate as you felt waiting for the train in the first place—as sad and agitated and hopeless [...]
So I saw my first bed bug in New York City this weekend and, thank god, it was not in my apartment. It was in a pretty bad place, though. On a bus, the M9, on the sleeve of the windbreaker of a man sitting right next to me and my kid and my kid's friend. We were with my kid's friend's mom, too, heading to their house to have lunch after karate class. (The kids are in the class, not us adults. Still, though, I've been watching. So don't fuck with me.)
There is no doubt that it was a bed bug.
"A subterranean railway under London was awfully suggestive of dank, noisome tunnels buried many fathoms deep beyond the reach of light or life; passages inhabited by rats, soaked with sewer drippings, and poisoned by the escape of gas mains. It seemed an insult to common sense to suppose that people who could travel as cheaply on the outside of a Paddington bus would prefer, as a merely quicker medium, to be driven amid palpable darkness through the foul subsoil of London." —The first stretch of London's Metropolitan Line opened on January 9th, 1863. That's 150 years ago today, which, if you've been on an A train here in [...]