The Life and Times of Totally Tyler

While sitting on a slow moving Brooklyn-bound F-Train, an older, heavy man shuffled by me at a snail’s pace. In one hand he held a cane and with the other, he dragged an overstuffed garbage bag nicked with rips and holes. The train suddenly lurched forward and the man quickly stumbled before falling backwards, landing right on top of me.

When I’m traveling alone on the subway, I prefer to stand. I normally find a spot at the end of the car and lean on the door that is marked “Do Not Lean On Door”. There, I have a great view of any drama and all the hotties. Sometimes, after a long day at work, I’ll treat myself to a much-coveted seat.

I spend almost three hours a day beneath the city of New York traveling on the subway. Everyday, I see the same cast of characters. The pixie-like Asian lady that carefully rips articles from the Times and then delicately places them in a black binder marked “The Reason”.

“I fucking hate this,” I said back in 1996. It was my first visit to New York and I was standing on a subway platform, starring at the map, overwhelmed and annoyed.