Update: Remember fat man sweating while eating pudding on the subway platform? From yesterday? That was at Hoyt-Schermerhorn station. Where all good thoughts go to die. And the latest issue of the L Magazine agrees with me. The rape station (urban legend says that a woman was dragged to the abandoned railway track and raped while commuters watched) featured in a section entitled "5 Best Places to Trigger an Existential Crisis":



"Hoyt-Schermerhorn Subway Station Have you ever been to Hoyt-Schermerhorn station, midwife to melancholy? Paint chips cling desperately to rust-stained concrete columns, low-watt bulbs illuminate the grey walls half-heartedly and the approaching rumble of an oncoming train causes the blank-faced passengers to stir reflexively from their torpor."

Ah, torpor. Sounds like lukewarm yellow pudding.