The F Train Blues...
Daddy wants an F Train to take home...that's right, his very own F Train. They sell them here, tiny little F Trains, for about a million dollars each. They're toy subway cars for #$%k's sake? I'm sketching up the design and getting Grandad or Pops to help me build a few so that Zedder can always have something to remind her of her little life here in Brooklyn.
It shouldn't be too hard, of course they'll just be wooden blocks all carved up and painted to look like the F Train, or any train for that matter. Naturally, we'll skip all the sketchbags who are inside...naturally.
If I can get my hands on some wood I just might carve one while I'm here. I've got my trusty Swiss Army knife, and of course, everyone here in Carroll Gardens sits on their stoops and whittles...bunch of Jed Clampetts around here. No one would stare.
It looks easy, peasy...four doors on each side of each car, three windows, and the front and back of each train are three smaller windows and the F Train logo. How hard can it be? Beside, I could use the Zen fulfillment that such a task would surely inspire. We brought Band Aids, and I already know the intricacies of the US Health Care system now. Daddy might not need Grandad or Pop's help, but don't count it.