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plenty of opportunities to exit the train. But during the four-minute ride beneath the East River he comes close to losing it—or blowing apart , to use his words. Actually, it happens right about now, right here , in the very depths of this tunnel that’s not only underground, but also underneath a river, the thought of which completely messes with his mind, triggers a serious claustrophobic drowning response. His heart races and he sweats and he has overwhelming feelings of dread, a full-on neurochemical train wreck in his head. Remember when the new prisoners arrive in that movie The Shawshank Redemption , and one chubby prisoner breaks down, starts blubbering I’m not supposed to be here? That’s how Justin feels in the beginning, as if he’s trapped—imprisoned even—so that when the train stops in the middle of the tunnel, as it does occasionally, it takes every ounce of self-control to keep himself from clutching at people and yelling I’m not supposed to be here .
    FEMALE PASSENGER: Clutching at people? How would that help anything?
    L TRAIN: Lord if I know. Between you and me, it turns out that he’s had these problems before. He had a thing with airplanes, wouldn’t fly for years. Aviophobia, they call it. Pathetic, right?
    FEMALE PASSENGER: A little bit, yes. And ironic. I mean, he’s all obsessed with motion and interested in this Moby-Dick “spiritual descent” stuff, but he’s afraid go down and ride the subway?
    L TRAIN: Tell me about it! This is the First Avenue Station .
    FEMALE PASSENGER: So what ends up happening? I mean, I’m guessing he’ll have to ride the subway regularly at some point.
    L TRAIN: Stand clear of the closing doors, please. The next stop is Third Avenue . At first he tries to avoid me. Rides his bike everywhere, figures out the bus system. He avoids Manhattan, spends most of his time over in Brooklyn. But he ends up getting a job in Midtown and has to take the train every day. So eventually he has to man up and face his fears.
    FEMALE PASSENGER: How does he do it?
    L TRAIN: He brings a copy of Walt Whitman’s poem “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry,” where Whitman speaks of commuting across the Harlem River, with all the other anonymous passengers, having the same questions, doubts, hopes—the same periods of fear and darkness. He reads it over and over, holds it in his sweaty palms as if it were a close friend’s hand. He likes the way Whitman reaches out across time to the reader, says, “I am with you.” I am with you —he finds this comforting. He also memorizes a passage from the “Grand Armada” chapter of Moby-Dick:
    And thus, though surrounded by circle upon circle of consternations and affrights, did these inscrutable creatures at the centre freely and fearlessly indulge in all peaceful concernments; yea, serenely revelled in dalliance and delight. But even so, amid the tornadoed Atlantic of my being, do I myself still for ever centrally disport in mute calm; and while ponderous planets of unwaning woe revolve round me, deep down and deep inland there I still bathe me in eternal mildness of joy.
    This helps remind him that no matter how wired out the city makes him, or how much mental chaos his brain stirs up, deep down his soul is quiet and still and generally okay. And he meditates, uses breathing techniques. He throws in a yoga technique his stepmother taught him when he was a kid: nadi shodhana , alternate nostril breathing. But mostly he just forces himself to do something that scares him, over and over, until the fear finally eases up, little by little.
    FEMALE PASSENGER: So he gets better? He’s able to ride?
    L TRAIN: Yes. Slowly he gets better. He calms down, surrenders himself to the whole experience. After a few months, he’s not even conscious of it anymore; he can just sit back and relax and enjoy the ride like anyone else. That winter he reads Anna Karenina , almost entirely on the subway. This is Third Avenue. The next stop is Fourteenth Street