Today during rush hour I stood above a middle-aged couple seated on the Q train as it inched its way to Union Square. I watched the tired blonde woman bundled in her coat as she dug around in her Louis Vuitton purse to reveal a red Jolly Rancher. She examined the red candy and offered it to her husband. Irritated, he shook his head and looked away. She smiled and pulled out a green Jolly Rancher. He shook his head again, closed his eyes, and began twiddling his thumbs. She resumed digging in her purse and pulled out her hairbrush. She removed her blonde hair in one clump and dropped it on my shoes. The space above my head, which is usually lined with advertisements for Manhattan Storage (“RAISING A BABY IN NYC IS LIKE GROWING AN OAK TREE IN A THIMBLE”), or Seamless Delivery (“You’ve perfected the art of getting to third base faster: Food Delivery Date Night”), happened to be blank. I stared into the manila blank space and was calmed by the momentary miracle of having nothing to project.