So it’s 6am, you are hungover or otherwise sleep-deprived as you descend from the humid, exhaust-fumed streets into a TTC subway station. Your eyes are assaulted by fluorescent lighting. The worst occurs before you even enter any kind of conveyance: the subway car first rumbles into the platform, and then a horrific screeching as those not savvy enough to plug their ears suffer the high internal squeal of tinnitus. And like, I’m no engineer, or the least bit automotively inclined, but can’t we get some oil for this situation?
This is to say nothing of urine-redolence once on the actual car, which urine-redolence is sometimes often a welcome reprieve to various body odours and halitosic exhalations of the orally unhygienic!
 And when I say “you” I am not referring to “you” the reader, but rather “You” the second-person protagonist of Jay McInerney’s Bright Lights, Big City.