There’s just something about the G Train that inspires a certain something. (And, boy, is it going to inspire some writing after residential development in Greenpoint and other neighborhoods makes thousands more writers dependent on the line.) Case in point is this item posted on the blog Kneecapped:

Last night, while sprinting down the Bergen St. subway platform to catch the little G train that stops in the middle of the platform, far away from the entrances, my wife made a funny comparison. The G train is like the short bus.

I have to agree. The G is smaller than normal trains, it doesn’t go into Manhattan (mainstream school?), and acts as an auxiliary train service.

The short bus stops in many different and spread out school districts, picking up students and bringing them to a central (special?) school. The G train rides through Brooklyn and Queens wrangling up hipsters to bring to Williamsburg or yuppies to drop off in Cobble Hill.

The G is also an object of scorn and mockery. When people hear you live on the G train their eyes become glassy. Their expression grows into one of confusion and pity.

So here’s to you G train, don’t let anyone tell you you’re different.

Us, we love the fact the G has been running to Coney Island on weekends for, like, the last two months.