Training Day

                                                                                                     On a train from Williamsburg, Virginia to New York, New York, I had the following thought brought on by the man sitting opposite of me and my brother:

Is there anything more frightening than the sight of a staunchly middle-aged white man, wearing faded dungarees and an ill fitting, tucked in, button down shirt, who is just a touch too clean shaven (is that a fresh nick you see on his neck?), reading Catcher in the Rye?

I think not.

And here is evidence of that train journey.