The Train of Broken Dreams

I'm the first to admit that stupid things bother me. Sometimes my neurocies get the best of me, and I end up passive-agressively calling someone out on the train, only to end up in incredible awkward silence for the remainder of the trip. Where was I? Oh yes- the Train of Broken Dreams. My commute to work is usually a little over an hour from door to door. I switch trains 3 times, so that it doesn't take 1 hour and 25 minutes. Fine. I have no problem with that. I have books and an Ipod to pass the time. What I DO have a problem with is the apparent amount of depression/sadness/insomnia that seem to grip the Q train. Every morning and evening, I am surrounded by people who hold their heads in their hands, fall asleep on me (you know the head bob/shoulder bump I'm talking about), snore, sigh/breathe loudly, and treat the subway bucket seats like Lazyboy recliners. W. T. F. WTF? Am I the only one who is bothered by this? (Yes, you are.) I feel like bringing an air horn on the train and squeezing it anytime someone's apathy gets near me. And I'm sorry, but are THAT many people really THAT tired at all times? Perhaps. Maybe the Q train is full of E.R. doctors who just finished a 26783 hour shift. Or maybe it's full of moms and dads with 8 children. Or maybe it's full of New Yorkers.