I remember the days of the slow sludge, the nudge and grudge of fellow commuters grumbling while crumbling on the journey to the end of their line.
I used to know what it was like to ride, watching the world aimlessly float by. But I've decided that it's really much better to fly.
The pursuit of passion ignites an energy that the path of these predictive tracks may never reach.
So where is the life in that?