It is clear that the subway is a city beneath the City, in many aspects. There are occupants, and housing and rules and a whole lot more. Last night, after theatre, ran down the stairs at the Times Square Station and caught the A train as it was just entering the station. Although there is a conductor looking over the platform at each stop, the stops are timed to be short and curt. I bounded into the car along with a few others to see that the car was sparsely populated. This is usually a good thing. And then the smell hit me. Let me say that if you had this smell at home, you would immediately call a plumber because the youngest member of your family deposited a used diaper in the commode and it ran over. In this case? twins of everything. The train moves again too quickly to amend one’s choice. At 34th street I jumped off and ran to enter the next car, followed by two other passengers from the privy car. Two stops later I got off. I waited to see the train cars pass, as I wanted to see if anyone was still in the privy car and sure enough… there he was, the original occupant, middle aged, soiled, rubenesque in stature now stretched out for a sleep on the bench, alone in the car.