So it's kind of fun, riding the 7 train out in the smelly stinky stank rank Flushing with the crush of people, many of whom tend to be improbably ugly, somehow, and pimplier than not, the sort of train where you never need to have anything to do with Manhattan in the least, a Queens-bound life, except Tuesdays and Thursdays, perhaps. It's fun to pick up Wifey at work and pretend to have important business with the battered women and then take Wifey back to smelly Flushing to eat and ride the train home early enough for an evening of tv and squealing. The summer is great as long as you stay indoors.