I like it when my cousin Jeanne comes to visit. She is an awfully creative person to begin with, and New York brings it out gloriously. Just to wake up in New York gets the creative juices flowing, and it is awfully fun to watch her get excited about all the city has to offer. You can just see it all stirring inside her from morning to night, breathing it all in.
Not surprisingly, Jeanne loves New York, too. But she does not love the subway. She is from a small town. It is a small down where both she and I learned Southern manners, things like always standing and offering your seat to a lady. It was also a small town where just coming to New York at all is considered a dangerous enough thing to do without going down into the ground with God knows who to catch a train heading off into a tunnel. In fact, before we moved here, Jeanne avoided the subway altogether, opting instead for cabs and an occasional bus. Since coming to visit us, though, Jeanne has ventured, albeit somewhat reluctantly, into the subway. After all, her New York cousin knows the ropes.