Riding the rails seemed like a good idea at first - good like the car garden, flowers blooming off the fumes, flowers in lieu of plugs… from the sidelines, the rebs shot up the train, targeting first the quiet ride car. Some Paul Simon straphangar in a conductor’s hat hung out the sardine slam-door to wish them rebs a farewell and to blow them a kiss. As he zipped by, I could catch “…NICE TIME…” out of his mouth, as friendly as can be, as friendly as he can be, at least. A nice gesture in the game of how to make congestion harmonize and clutter hum. Playback begins at PM2.5 and only gets worse from there. Luckily, we learned how to deal with these sort of problems. Sweet bells and whispers turn into idle threats. Eventually the garden overheats and the muffler falls off and hurts someone else’s sweet custom hobby car passion.