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It’s late afternoon in New York City. I’ve just 1）swiped my MetroCard at 2）145th Street in Harlem and am heading downtown. I’m not holding a bouquet or joined by friends. I’m not heading home from work. I’m not， for that matter， even riding to any particular destination. I’m wearing a pair of jeans， a few sweaters and a jacket containing my iPhone， a Kindle and a toothbrush. I’m alone.
Where I’m heading is everywhere and， well， nowhere. I’m riding the New York City subway for 24 hours straight， with no plan other than to just go.
As fate or simple chance conspired， I’m beginning this solitary adventure at 5：23pm on Valentine’s Day. I hesitate on the platform for a moment， choosing between two arriving cars. I hop on， and a journey through the city’s 3）arteries begins.
The first few hours pass quickly as evening turns to night. Shakespeare’s sonnets somehow get me through some initial loneliness： “Die single and thine image dies with thee.” I finish to find it’s already far into the night. A man’s enjoying a cigarette in my car despite the 4）screeching 5）whines of a woman.
那是纽约的黄昏时分。我刚在哈莱姆区的145街刷了我的地铁卡，正往市中心而去。我没有捧着花束也没有友人相陪。我并非下班后回家。至于去哪儿，我甚至并非前往任一特定的目的地。我身穿一条牛仔裤，几件毛衣和一件夹克，里面揣着我的苹果手机、一个Kindle电子阅读器和一把牙刷。只身一人。
我正打算哪儿都去，嗯，或者说哪儿都不去。我打算在纽约市的地铁里连续坐上24个小时，除了在路上，没有任何计划。
是命中注定，又或者是仅仅碰巧而已，我在情人节这天下午的5点23分开始这段孤独的旅程。我在站台上迟疑了一会儿，从两辆正在进站的列车中选择其一。我跃上车，一段穿越这个城市交通干线的旅程由此开始。
随着黄昏转入黑夜，最初的几个小时过得很快。不知怎的，莎士比亚的十四行诗助我度过了某些最初的孤独：“独自死去，你的肖像和你一起。”我终于发现夜已经很深了。一个男人正在我所在的车厢里抽烟，尽管一个女人在尖声抱怨。
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 I’m hopping onto another car with a vague plan to head to Coney Island， I notice one couple whose night’s 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—there’s no time for anything else here.
I’m at Coney Island. It’s somewhere past 3am， and the train idles here longer than expected. The city might not be sleeping， but I’m alone. The car doors hang open as we linger， cold February air pouring in. I’m freezing， wishing for extra socks and thanking God for my high-necked sweater. It’s creeping toward 7am and I’m in Grand Central. As I’m brushing my teeth I’m 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.
午夜将近，我在西四站跳下车，在站台上伸伸双腿，而在西村这边，车站正因夜幕的降临而热闹起来。男孩们和女孩们——还有女孩们和女孩们——无处不在，他们手捧玫瑰一路狂奔，尽情享受他们的夜晚。当我跳上另一辆列车，心里模糊地希望能够到达康尼岛时，我注意到了一对情侣，他们今夜的高潮戏将会在站台上上演。
我很快便意识到想要在心里记下我所见之人的故事是无用的。一个皱着眉头的拉美人正拎着外卖回家。一个痴迷于iPod音乐的小孩坐在他面露怯色的母亲身边。一个衣着皱巴巴的金融区交易员刚跳上车。每张面孔都是一个故事，所以你很快就会将其忘却。一种久经锻炼的冷漠占据着主导地位——这里没有时间去关心其他任何事物。
我到了康尼岛。已是凌晨三点多了，列车在这里停留的时间比预期中要长。这座城市或许整夜未眠，但我却只身一人。当我们逗留于此时，车厢门一直敞开着，二月寒冷的空气涌了进来。我快被冻僵了，一边希望能多穿几双袜子，一边感谢上帝自己穿了高领毛衣。
时间缓缓爬向早上七点，我来到了大中央车站。我在刷牙时感到有些慌张，意识到自己看起来肯定像极了一个新出炉的无家可归者。没时间反省了：匆匆地买了杯咖啡，一块百吉饼，并发推特微博联系了一个当地的朋友。在他不得不去上班之前，我们一起坐了一程。
I’m 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 I’ve felt throughout. The Book by Alan Watts carries me through the final hours， across Midtown， into Queens， in loops， everywhere.
I’ve 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 he’s 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.
此时，我已经行程过半了，并第一次呼呼大睡起来，几个小时后醒过来，已经到达位于布朗克斯区的某个阳光灿烂而温暖的地方了。
行程伊始，我就已经将自己的现金和卡塞进了鞋子里以防万一，现在却开始意识到，只剩下几个小时路程了，一路上我感觉到相当地安全。艾伦·瓦兹的《书》伴我度过了最后几个小时，穿过市中心，进入皇后区，绕城行走，到达各处。
我已设法成为了纽约地铁里的一个局外人——从容不迫地踱进任何一辆接着开来的列车，在任何一个站台上车，去到任何一个地方。一个烂醉如泥的家伙打断了我的神游，他在我身旁来回晃悠，咆哮着他莫名的民意测试：“女士们都开心吗？嘿！女士们都开心吗？”但他并不粗暴，只是喝多了——所以女士们都挺开心的。 纽约地铁是一个悖论——仅仅渗漏雨水就能提醒我们，这个人造的雄武有力、能屈能伸的产品实际上相当脆弱。
其系统看上去确实很老旧，但此中却蕴含着它的美——在地下区域里依然没有真正的互联网；几乎没有明亮、现代且宽敞的空间能让我们顿觉渺小；可爱的瓷砖插画和很少几面平整且褪色的水泥墙；地图册似的工字钢梁在纽约为旧日时光的低声私语，也为这座“整容”前的城市能存活哪怕久一些而创造空间。
Valentine’s Day is over， and the weekend is underway. It’s 5：24pm， and I’m walking out of the subway. I’ve 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 America’s greatest city. And in the worst way you begin to wonder whether you’re really there， and so you forget to smile. There’s more than merely age and rust underground that 17）corrodes New York’s foundations. And yet：
Age and rust. We’re all somewhere along the forward rails that lead us back to our beginning. We’re 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 we’re 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.
情人节结束了，周末才刚开始。下午5点24分，我走出地铁。我已乖乖在里面度过了24小时——比大多数人更多，但比起那些以此为家的人来说，只不过是个笑话罢了。
真正的冒险实际上是我在不同阶段的情感经历。持续近距离感受人性的疏远是件艰难的事——对人微笑却被回以皱眉，看着他人却被忽视。睡着了却没有被抢劫。从其最好的却又似是而非的感受中，你开始在美国最了不起的城市之中看到一种修道士般的保留心理。而从最坏的方面来说，你开始怀疑自己是否真的身在其中，于是你忘记了微笑。腐蚀纽约根基的并不仅仅是岁月和地下的锈斑。然而：
岁月和锈斑。我们都身处前方铁路沿线的某个地方，而列车却带着我们回到初始的地方。我们每个人都希望能够分享到一点彼此那种真诚却无形的美德——使它们成为献给他人的有形而美丽的礼物。我们想为他人这样做，即便我们并没有去尝试。纽约城——或许并没有做出任何尝试——已经在这段奇怪而杂乱的冒险旅程中送了我一个美丽而有形的礼物。
Where I’m heading is everywhere and， well， nowhere. I’m riding the New York City subway for 24 hours straight， with no plan other than to just go.
As fate or simple chance conspired， I’m beginning this solitary adventure at 5：23pm on Valentine’s Day. I hesitate on the platform for a moment， choosing between two arriving cars. I hop on， and a journey through the city’s 3）arteries begins.
The first few hours pass quickly as evening turns to night. Shakespeare’s sonnets somehow get me through some initial loneliness： “Die single and thine image dies with thee.” I finish to find it’s already far into the night. A man’s enjoying a cigarette in my car despite the 4）screeching 5）whines of a woman.
那是纽约的黄昏时分。我刚在哈莱姆区的145街刷了我的地铁卡，正往市中心而去。我没有捧着花束也没有友人相陪。我并非下班后回家。至于去哪儿，我甚至并非前往任一特定的目的地。我身穿一条牛仔裤，几件毛衣和一件夹克，里面揣着我的苹果手机、一个Kindle电子阅读器和一把牙刷。只身一人。
我正打算哪儿都去，嗯，或者说哪儿都不去。我打算在纽约市的地铁里连续坐上24个小时，除了在路上，没有任何计划。
是命中注定，又或者是仅仅碰巧而已，我在情人节这天下午的5点23分开始这段孤独的旅程。我在站台上迟疑了一会儿，从两辆正在进站的列车中选择其一。我跃上车，一段穿越这个城市交通干线的旅程由此开始。
随着黄昏转入黑夜，最初的几个小时过得很快。不知怎的，莎士比亚的十四行诗助我度过了某些最初的孤独：“独自死去，你的肖像和你一起。”我终于发现夜已经很深了。一个男人正在我所在的车厢里抽烟，尽管一个女人在尖声抱怨。
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 I’m hopping onto another car with a vague plan to head to Coney Island， I notice one couple whose night’s 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—there’s no time for anything else here.
I’m at Coney Island. It’s somewhere past 3am， and the train idles here longer than expected. The city might not be sleeping， but I’m alone. The car doors hang open as we linger， cold February air pouring in. I’m freezing， wishing for extra socks and thanking God for my high-necked sweater. It’s creeping toward 7am and I’m in Grand Central. As I’m brushing my teeth I’m 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.
午夜将近，我在西四站跳下车，在站台上伸伸双腿，而在西村这边，车站正因夜幕的降临而热闹起来。男孩们和女孩们——还有女孩们和女孩们——无处不在，他们手捧玫瑰一路狂奔，尽情享受他们的夜晚。当我跳上另一辆列车，心里模糊地希望能够到达康尼岛时，我注意到了一对情侣，他们今夜的高潮戏将会在站台上上演。
我很快便意识到想要在心里记下我所见之人的故事是无用的。一个皱着眉头的拉美人正拎着外卖回家。一个痴迷于iPod音乐的小孩坐在他面露怯色的母亲身边。一个衣着皱巴巴的金融区交易员刚跳上车。每张面孔都是一个故事，所以你很快就会将其忘却。一种久经锻炼的冷漠占据着主导地位——这里没有时间去关心其他任何事物。
我到了康尼岛。已是凌晨三点多了，列车在这里停留的时间比预期中要长。这座城市或许整夜未眠，但我却只身一人。当我们逗留于此时，车厢门一直敞开着，二月寒冷的空气涌了进来。我快被冻僵了，一边希望能多穿几双袜子，一边感谢上帝自己穿了高领毛衣。
时间缓缓爬向早上七点，我来到了大中央车站。我在刷牙时感到有些慌张，意识到自己看起来肯定像极了一个新出炉的无家可归者。没时间反省了：匆匆地买了杯咖啡，一块百吉饼，并发推特微博联系了一个当地的朋友。在他不得不去上班之前，我们一起坐了一程。
I’m 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 I’ve felt throughout. The Book by Alan Watts carries me through the final hours， across Midtown， into Queens， in loops， everywhere.
I’ve 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 he’s 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.
此时，我已经行程过半了，并第一次呼呼大睡起来，几个小时后醒过来，已经到达位于布朗克斯区的某个阳光灿烂而温暖的地方了。
行程伊始，我就已经将自己的现金和卡塞进了鞋子里以防万一，现在却开始意识到，只剩下几个小时路程了，一路上我感觉到相当地安全。艾伦·瓦兹的《书》伴我度过了最后几个小时，穿过市中心，进入皇后区，绕城行走，到达各处。
我已设法成为了纽约地铁里的一个局外人——从容不迫地踱进任何一辆接着开来的列车，在任何一个站台上车，去到任何一个地方。一个烂醉如泥的家伙打断了我的神游，他在我身旁来回晃悠，咆哮着他莫名的民意测试：“女士们都开心吗？嘿！女士们都开心吗？”但他并不粗暴，只是喝多了——所以女士们都挺开心的。 纽约地铁是一个悖论——仅仅渗漏雨水就能提醒我们，这个人造的雄武有力、能屈能伸的产品实际上相当脆弱。
其系统看上去确实很老旧，但此中却蕴含着它的美——在地下区域里依然没有真正的互联网；几乎没有明亮、现代且宽敞的空间能让我们顿觉渺小；可爱的瓷砖插画和很少几面平整且褪色的水泥墙；地图册似的工字钢梁在纽约为旧日时光的低声私语，也为这座“整容”前的城市能存活哪怕久一些而创造空间。
Valentine’s Day is over， and the weekend is underway. It’s 5：24pm， and I’m walking out of the subway. I’ve 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 America’s greatest city. And in the worst way you begin to wonder whether you’re really there， and so you forget to smile. There’s more than merely age and rust underground that 17）corrodes New York’s foundations. And yet：
Age and rust. We’re all somewhere along the forward rails that lead us back to our beginning. We’re 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 we’re 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.
情人节结束了，周末才刚开始。下午5点24分，我走出地铁。我已乖乖在里面度过了24小时——比大多数人更多，但比起那些以此为家的人来说，只不过是个笑话罢了。
真正的冒险实际上是我在不同阶段的情感经历。持续近距离感受人性的疏远是件艰难的事——对人微笑却被回以皱眉，看着他人却被忽视。睡着了却没有被抢劫。从其最好的却又似是而非的感受中，你开始在美国最了不起的城市之中看到一种修道士般的保留心理。而从最坏的方面来说，你开始怀疑自己是否真的身在其中，于是你忘记了微笑。腐蚀纽约根基的并不仅仅是岁月和地下的锈斑。然而：
岁月和锈斑。我们都身处前方铁路沿线的某个地方，而列车却带着我们回到初始的地方。我们每个人都希望能够分享到一点彼此那种真诚却无形的美德——使它们成为献给他人的有形而美丽的礼物。我们想为他人这样做，即便我们并没有去尝试。纽约城——或许并没有做出任何尝试——已经在这段奇怪而杂乱的冒险旅程中送了我一个美丽而有形的礼物。