One fall night a few years ago I walked up to the red line platform at Morse and there standing, waiting for the southbound train, was a cute girl reading War and Peace. We boarded the same car. I sat down and got out my book—which was, of course, War and Peace. Between Morse and Belmont I don't think she looked up from her book long enough to realize that I was reading the same one. She must've been in one of the battle scenes. I was probably in the middle of one of the interminable domestic episodes. Anyway I didn't say anything, maybe because of the unwritten rules of big-city public transport, maybe because I was on my way to a first date and felt awkward. Turns out my date that evening was also a fan of Russian literature, though she didn’t like Tolstoy.
10 Best of 2014
January: Wyoming and the Open
February: New Mexico and the Holes
Notes on The Accounts