by Thomas A. Shakely

Its late afternoon in New York City. Ive just 1）swiped my MetroCard at 2）145th Street in Harlem and am heading downtown. Im not holding a bouquet or joined by friends. Im not heading home from work. Im not， for that matter， even riding to any particular destination. Im wearing a pair of jeans， a few sweaters and a jacket containing my iPhone， a Kindle and a toothbrush. Im alone.

Where Im heading is everywhere and， well， nowhere. Im riding the New York City subway for 24 hours straight， with no plan other than to just go.

As fate or simple chance conspired， Im beginning this solitary adventure at 5：23pm on Valentines Day. I hesitate on the platform for a moment， choosing between two arriving cars. I hop on， and a journey through the citys 3）arteries begins.

The first few hours pass quickly as evening turns to night. Shakespeares sonnets somehow get me through some initial loneliness： “Die single and thine image dies with thee.” I finish to find its already far into the night. A mans enjoying a cigarette in my car despite the 4）screeching 5）whines of a woman.

那是紐約的黃昏時分。我剛在哈萊姆區(qū)的145街刷了我的地鐵卡，正往市中心而去。我沒有捧著花束也沒有友人相陪。我并非下班后回家。至于去哪兒，我甚至并非前往任一特定的目的地。我身穿一條牛仔褲，幾件毛衣和一件夾克，里面揣著我的蘋果手機、一個Kindle電子閱讀器和一把牙刷。只身一人。

我正打算哪兒都去，嗯，或者說哪兒都不去。我打算在紐約市的地鐵里連續(xù)坐上24個小時，除了在路上，沒有任何計劃。

是命中注定，又或者是僅僅碰巧而已，我在情人節(jié)這天下午的5點23分開始這段孤獨的旅程。我在站臺上遲疑了一會兒，從兩輛正在進站的列車中選擇其一。我躍上車，一段穿越這個城市交通干線的旅程由此開始。

隨著黃昏轉(zhuǎn)入黑夜，最初的幾個小時過得很快。不知怎的，莎士比亞的十四行詩助我度過了某些最初的孤獨：“獨自死去，你的肖像和你一起?！蔽医K于發(fā)現(xiàn)夜已經(jīng)很深了。一個男人正在我所在的車廂里抽煙，盡管一個女人在尖聲抱怨。

Nearing midnight I jump off at W4th to stretch my legs on the platform， and here in the West Village things are just heating up for the night. Boys and girls—and girls and girls—are everywhere rushing with roses in hand to make the most of their night. As Im hopping onto another car with a vague plan to head to Coney Island， I notice one couple whose nights climax will be right on the platform.

I realize quickly the 6）futility of mentally recording the story of the people I see. A frowning Latino bringing takeout back home. A child lost in an iPod next to his 7）diffident mother. The limp-suited Financial District trader just hopping on. Every face is a story， and so you quickly forget. A practiced disinterest predominates—theres no time for anything else here.

Im at Coney Island. Its somewhere past 3am， and the train idles here longer than expected. The city might not be sleeping， but Im alone. The car doors hang open as we linger， cold February air pouring in. Im freezing， wishing for extra socks and thanking God for my high-necked sweater.

Its creeping toward 7am and Im in Grand Central. As Im brushing my teeth Im 8）rattled， realizing how freshly homeless I must seem. No time for 9）introspection： a quick coffee， 10）bagel and a Twitter-enabled meetup with a local friend. We ride the train a bit together before he has to get to work.

午夜將近，我在西四站跳下車，在站臺上伸伸雙腿，而在西村這邊，車站正因夜幕的降臨而熱鬧起來。男孩們和女孩們——還有女孩們和女孩們——無處不在，他們手捧玫瑰一路狂奔，盡情享受他們的夜晚。當我跳上另一輛列車，心里模糊地希望能夠到達康尼島時，我注意到了一對情侶，他們今夜的高潮戲?qū)谡九_上上演。

我很快便意識到想要在心里記下我所見之人的故事是無用的。一個皺著眉頭的拉美人正拎著外賣回家。一個癡迷于iPod音樂的小孩坐在他面露怯色的母親身邊。一個衣著皺巴巴的金融區(qū)交易員剛跳上車。每張面孔都是一個故事，所以你很快就會將其忘卻。一種久經(jīng)鍛煉的冷漠占據(jù)著主導地位——這里沒有時間去關心其他任何事物。

我到了康尼島。已是凌晨三點多了，列車在這里停留的時間比預期中要長。這座城市或許整夜未眠，但我卻只身一人。當我們逗留于此時，車廂門一直敞開著，二月寒冷的空氣涌了進來。我快被凍僵了，一邊希望能多穿幾雙襪子，一邊感謝上帝自己穿了高領毛衣。

時間緩緩爬向早上七點，我來到了大中央車站。我在刷牙時感到有些慌張，意識到自己看起來肯定像極了一個新出爐的無家可歸者。沒時間反省了：匆匆地買了杯咖啡，一塊百吉餅，并發(fā)推特微博聯(lián)系了一個當?shù)氐呐笥?。在他不得不去上班之前，我們一起坐了一程?/p>

Im more than halfway in at this point， and fall soundly asleep for the first time， waking up hours later to sunshine and warmth somewhere in the Bronx.

I had put my cash and cards in my shoe from the start as a 11）precaution and am realizing now with just a few hours to go how safe Ive felt throughout. The Book by Alan Watts carries me through the final hours， across Midtown， into Queens， in loops， everywhere.

Ive managed to be an outsider on the New York subway—one at leisure， wandering into whatever train comes next on whatever platform， heading wherever. A 12）blitzed guy interrupts my wondering as he staggers back and forth， screaming his 13）dubious poll： “Are the ladies happy？ Hey！ Are the ladies happy？” But hes not violent， just drunk—and so the ladies are happy.

The MTA is a paradox—this muscular， 14）resilient product of man that simple flooding rainwaters remind us is， actually， rather fragile.

It seems the system is really aging， but herein lies its beauties—still no real Internet presence in the underground areas； few bright， modern， wide spaces to 15）dwarf us in scale； lovely tile artwork and few flat， stained， concrete walls； Atlas-like I-beams creating spaces in New York for whispers of the old days， for the pre-plastic city to survive if only a little longer.

此時，我已經(jīng)行程過半了，并第一次呼呼大睡起來，幾個小時后醒過來，已經(jīng)到達位于布朗克斯區(qū)的某個陽光燦爛而溫暖的地方了。

行程伊始，我就已經(jīng)將自己的現(xiàn)金和卡塞進了鞋子里以防萬一，現(xiàn)在卻開始意識到，只剩下幾個小時路程了，一路上我感覺到相當?shù)匕踩?。艾倫·瓦茲的《書》伴我度過了最后幾個小時，穿過市中心，進入皇后區(qū)，繞城行走，到達各處。

我已設法成為了紐約地鐵里的一個局外人——從容不迫地踱進任何一輛接著開來的列車，在任何一個站臺上車，去到任何一個地方。一個爛醉如泥的家伙打斷了我的神游，他在我身旁來回晃悠，咆哮著他莫名的民意測試：“女士們都開心嗎？嘿！女士們都開心嗎？”但他并不粗暴，只是喝多了——所以女士們都挺開心的。

紐約地鐵是一個悖論——僅僅滲漏雨水就能提醒我們，這個人造的雄武有力、能屈能伸的產(chǎn)品實際上相當脆弱。

其系統(tǒng)看上去確實很老舊，但此中卻蘊含著它的美——在地下區(qū)域里依然沒有真正的互聯(lián)網(wǎng)；幾乎沒有明亮、現(xiàn)代且寬敞的空間能讓我們頓覺渺?。豢蓯鄣拇纱u插畫和很少幾面平整且褪色的水泥墻；地圖冊似的工字鋼梁在紐約為舊日時光的低聲私語，也為這座“整容”前的城市能存活哪怕久一些而創(chuàng)造空間。

Valentines Day is over， and the weekend is underway. Its 5：24pm， and Im walking out of the subway. Ive spent 24 hours in its thrall—more than most， but little more than a laugh compared to those who know it as a home.

The true adventure has been an adventure of my varying states of feeling. To be constantly near a chilly humanity is a difficult thing—to smile and receive a frown or to look and be ignored. To fall asleep and not even be robbed. In its best， paradoxical sense you begin to see a 16）monastic reserve in the midst of Americas greatest city. And in the worst way you begin to wonder whether youre really there， and so you forget to smile. Theres more than merely age and rust underground that 17）corrodes New Yorks foundations. And yet：

Age and rust. Were all somewhere along the forward rails that lead us back to our beginning. Were each hoping to share a bit of those genuine and yet invisible virtues of ours—to make them visible， beautiful gifts for others. And we tend to do this for others， even when were not trying. New York City—probably without even trying—has given me a beautiful， visible gift over the course of this strange， 18）sprawling adventure.

情人節(jié)結(jié)束了，周末才剛開始。下午5點24分，我走出地鐵。我已乖乖在里面度過了24小時——比大多數(shù)人更多，但比起那些以此為家的人來說，只不過是個笑話罷了。

真正的冒險實際上是我在不同階段的情感經(jīng)歷。持續(xù)近距離感受人性的疏遠是件艱難的事——對人微笑卻被回以皺眉，看著他人卻被忽視。睡著了卻沒有被搶劫。從其最好的卻又似是而非的感受中，你開始在美國最了不起的城市之中看到一種修道士般的保留心理。而從最壞的方面來說，你開始懷疑自己是否真的身在其中，于是你忘記了微笑。腐蝕紐約根基的并不僅僅是歲月和地下的銹斑。然而：

歲月和銹斑。我們都身處前方鐵路沿線的某個地方，而列車卻帶著我們回到初始的地方。我們每個人都希望能夠分享到一點彼此那種真誠卻無形的美德——使它們成為獻給他人的有形而美麗的禮物。我們想為他人這樣做，即便我們并沒有去嘗試。紐約城——或許并沒有做出任何嘗試——已經(jīng)在這段奇怪而雜亂的冒險旅程中送了我一個美麗而有形的禮物。