Why do I love the L Train tonight? The train that causes me so much grief? The train that runs only 40 weekends out of the year? What has warmed the cockles of my commuter heart?

(Perhaps the two glasses of wine that I imbibed before boarding have changed my perspective.)

What is it that I love? The two Polish couples that I expect to get out at Lorimer Street that do not? The trio of girls in flip flops, despite the 50 degree weather? The family of supposed French tourists (MTV Store bags in hand)? Where are they going?

The train does not thin at Bedford Avenue as I expect it to. As it does every other night. The Hipsters reading Plato. Do they live on my street?

I love the chorus of voices and sounds. Everything that the L Train is - an amalgam of cultures and ages and faces.

The crowd follows me out the door. Where do they live? No one shadows me around the corner. They do not live on my block. My street. They scatter. Chatting in the many languages I recognize, but do not understand.

On Monday morning, I will be so irritated. So impatient. So tired.

Tonight I love it. The L Train.