Note to the fellow on the 3 train Dear Sir, It's very possible you may not read this. Hell, not many people can anyway. However, from outside my window Ain't No Stopping Us Now is pumping through someone's speakers, and I am compelled to write. Because frankly - and I hope your name isn't Frank - I am concerned. And it looked like nothing was stopping you. It was a crisp summer morning, and I had just stepped onto the 3 train from a short venture to brave the entitled, somewhat arrogant crowds at an upper west side Fairway for some groceries. In my bag were the usual suspects - deli meat, bread, pita chips, and a 6-pack of $11 beer. The lunch of champions. I positioned myself on the platform to board one the cars with the fewest passengers, as I usually do. It's a tactic I am forever learning, and maybe even getting better at, especially during weekdays. As fate would have it, I ended up boarding the very car I met you . Well, let's be frank ...