Poor readers might prefer listening to this piece.

When I first moved to Chicago, I lived in Wicker Park, and I quickly grew to resent the Blue Line for its indeciveness. Are you going to Forest Park or are you going to Cermak, Blue Line? I can never tell with you. The Blue Line was just like all the other train lines I'd loved: it couldn't commit.

So when I first met the Brown Line, you can imagine my joy. Here was a train that knew exactly where it was taking me and how to get there. And the Brown Line is so fun. I particularly love the way it starts off inching northward out of the Belmont station, and then accelerates until blasting through a hairpin curve at thirty miles an hour before slamming on the brakes and skidding into Paulina. My relationship with the Brown Line is a roller coaster, and while that's scary sometimes, it's exciting, too. And deep down, I know that the Brown Line will always be there for me.

Of course, my beloved train line isn't monogamous. The Brown Line has a lot of love to give, and I would never ask it to share its elevated tracks with me alone. But lately, I've become disturbed by my fellow Brown Line passengers. Perhaps they never lived on the Blue Line, but for some reason, they just don't seem to appreciate the Brown line.

Instead of enjoying the fine views afforded us by the Brown Line, many commuters spend their train time reading. I suspect the Brown Line can forgive us for reading great novels or important business documents-after all, we can't devote all our time to loving our train or we'll get clingy and obsessive. But I've noticed a lot of people reading bodice-ripping-type Romances on the Brown Line, and that is frankly unacceptable. You've got the most beautiful train line in Chicago right here and you want to read about some fictional sixteenth century Count?

But I'll take a standing room only load of romance readers over one cell phone user. We've all heard it and we've all made fun of it, and yet it continues to happen: "Hey. I'm on the train. I'll be home in like ten minutes. What? Sorry the train is really loud. YEAH...NO I'M ON THE TRAIN. YEAH....LIKE TEN MINUTES."

When you yell into your cell phone about how soon you'll be home, you make the Brown Line feel like you're just using it to get to the next part of your day. Would you take a cell phone call while making out with your partner? Would you say, "Hey call me back in about four minutes. I've got something to take care of real quick?"

Mind you, I don't think it hurts the Brown Line's feelings if you need to use your cell phone to communicate something important. If, for instance, you find yourself standing next to someone who is holding onto the pole in such a way that his armpit is in your face, then I think you should by all means call someone and say, "Hey, I'm on the train, and I can see the individual hair follicles in this guy's armpit, and I sure wish he would notice, or at the very least consider some basic hygiene strategies to combat body odor."

And last: you know that private little cubby in the front of each car? Don't pee there. We've all got our sexual eccentricities, but I know for a fact that the Brown Line isn't in to that sort of thing. The Brown Line wants you to show it love, yes, but not that kind of love.

I understand that CTA passengers don't care about their fellow passengers. So don't shower and act courteously and refrain from urinating on the train for my sake. Do it for our beloved, speedy, and often punctual Brown Line.