Some days when I’m riding the red line, I wish for an enforceable code of conduct, one that would stop people from touching me inappropriately or adding their not-so-nice smells and sounds to my already crowded mental landscape.  I hate you so much, my fellow sufferers, that I’m putting you in my novel.

That’s the whole prompt, folks. Hop on a bus or train and someone will provide a show ranging from a too-loud cell phone conversation about too-personal topics to a full-out WWE-style smack down.  There’s your story, or at least the kernel of one.

Seriously, what’s more complex, pithy, or at least hilarious, than the special complex of relationships that take place in a public space?  The CTA takes a socio-economically diverse cross-section of the city and slams them together without supervision.  It’s like reality TV, but real.  I smell Pulitzer!  Or maybe that’s just frat boy puke…