It Takes A 9 Train To Cry

We have shed more tears for a festering pigeon carcass than the recent murder of the 9 train. Introduced as a "local yet express train," it trafficked in the "skip stop": bypassing stations with the haphazard nature of Stevie Wonder trying to dunk a basketball.

The line's June 1 euthanization was ignored by most, but to some, the 9's demise deserved the fallen Irishman treatment-an eyeball-blurring, whiskey-chugging wake.

Such was last Thursday-June 9, at 9 p.m.-when more than 100 people congregated at the Chambers Street station to bid a gimpy transit relic goodbye. With "Love Potion No. 9" being boomboxed ad nauseam, "mourners" flooded the last two 1-train cars. It was sort of like getting fired, then taking your replacement out for Jägermeister shooters.

Up, up, uptown the revelers rode. Anguish, or an approximation thereof, was blunted with Jameson. "Nine forever!" shouted a griever as the party lurched into the Bronx, where the eulogy reached the track's typically abrupt end.

We imagine most of the tears dried quickly.