In the past two days, I’ve spent four hours on the Metro getting to and from D.C., an activity that is out of the ordinary for me since I usually work from home.
That translates to approximately 100 pages read in my latest book, House of the Spirits by Isabelle Allende. This is the same book which I’ve been sitting on for a month having gotten through just 40 pages or so.
The problem, therefore, was not the book, but me. Me and my lack of time on the Metro.
What is it about that rattling tram, the plastic seats, and the low hum of the train that make reading on the Metro so inviting? Do you think those in cities that don’t have mass public transportation end up having fewer commuters who read?
There’s an army of commuters on the train who hide behind their books. Maybe part of it is that we’d all rather delve into our own worlds then eavesdrop on the conversations of our fellow riders, or God forbid, talk to each other.