Dear Tooter, Not so many clickity clacks ago, I found myself surrounded by beige. This plain conveyance can't be the touted Acela train to Boston, I thought. It's the wrong train--nipped at my confidence. Beige ran up to me pawed at my flowery shirt, pulled on my bright white N95 mask. I yanked myself free, plucked a sleek red and yellow Fuji apple from my bag. But corporate 1980s wasn't done yet. A new seatmate was sent to the window seat. "Excuse me", the seatmate announced from behind. I rose to make way and as I turned, the blazing white N95 mask from 43years in the future sucked every last photon off the beige and sprayed them upon his eyes. He threw up his hands, exclaiming, "You're not sick are you?!" He was a tall lad, and a tad loud. "No, are you?!" I replied, even louder from a few inches below. And having fulfilled the 21st century's version of 'I'm OK, You're OK.' we settled back silently into the beige business of northeast train travel.