All I have in my commuting life now are mountains, fresh air, and holding my wife's hand (all very wonderful things, indeed). No broadcasted stories from those troubled by their promiscuous pasts and disturbed roommates (well, none unless Frankie and DB happen to be on). I sometimes miss the sight of a sony walkman (both of the cassette and cd varieties) and variations on fashion.
I miss the free-fare zone.
I barely have the chance to even take pictures. My time is limited to stop lights and Kenz is usually tasked with rustling through her purse to find her phone to take pictures for me at a moment's notice. I have noticed that my trigger finger is not what it used to be. My clandestine status is slipping.
I have resorted to taking pictures of inanimate objects. Boxes of chia-pet heads are not prone to outrageous behavior or fashion sense -- I guess this could easily be a debatable point.
I humor myself with photos of sword-fighting clubs on the WSC lawn, but even this is inadequate.
There is no public-transportation substitution.
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