Mr. Speedy

Today my subway was driven by my favorite conductor: Mr. Speedy. He's the one who, late on a Saturday night when the A was running local, announced at W72nd St. that the subway was becoming Harlem-bound, express to W125th St. The UWS yuppies groaned and exited. The rest of us exchanged quick, triumphant looks about living in the North Pole. Today, as we neared W125th St., Mr. Speedy announced "Home of the world famous Apollo the-a-tre!" I love Mr. Speedy because he doesn't mess around. Today I was in a hurry to relax (I was going spaaahing; see above). Mr. Speedy gets you where you need to go. He closes the doors fast-- who cares about amputating the hand of that rude person holding the door open because she can't figure out whether or not this is her train. Mr. Speedy is in charge of a trainload of people with places to go, people to see. He doesn't let them down. Between stations, he doesn't put-put along. The train works like a well-oiled machine (well, it is a machine, but it isn't always well-oiled.) When Mr. Speedy drives, the subway stops blur past. Hold onto whatever you can-- you're on a bullet speeding down the barrel of a gun toward Columbus Circle. After my spaahing, I rode back uptown, and wouldn't you know it? I got Mr. Speedy round-trip! It was my lucky day. I was so relaxed, and Mr. Speedy was so, well, speedy, that I didn't have time to grow impatient before reaching W190th St.