As I’m watching the G train I’ve been waiting for slow to a halt, I notice that all the cars have plenty of seats available. I’m relieved, because I’m going to be on this silver cylinder of misery for a lot of stops. Of course, when the door opens to the car in front of me, it is jam packed.

Yeah, there’s no way I’m spending 18 stops on a train standing up. I quickly dash to the previous car–not a short dash, mind you–and jump in it before the door closes.  Yes!  I made it!

Good news: Plenty of seats!
Bad news: The mystery liquid.

Chocolate milk?  Pumpkin spice latte? The blood of a basic bitch?
Chocolate milk? Pumpkin spice latte? The blood of a basic bitch?

There are long streams of some kind of brownish fluid flowing from the front of this car to the back. It looks like some brat spilled chocolate milk and it’s been spidering down ever since.

Here’s what’s weird about me: as soon as I saw it, I started laughing and haven’t really stopped since. At first I was laughing in that “ah, only in New York” kind of way where you’re kind of pissed about something, and the only way to deal with it is laugh.

Then, I start chuckling at every single stop watching the expressions on the faces of all the people who get on and notice the brown pollution. They range from completely indifferent to “What in the hell is this?” And no matter the expression, they all try to tiptoe around it. I’m getting a lot of entertainment out of the situation. It’s like a sitcom just for me.

Only in New York. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the show.