New Yorkers have perfected the art of personal space. Recently I was waiting for the subway on the L train platform during rush hour. There were easily ten people within breathing distance of me and hundreds more on the platform itself. I noticed that as I read my book, others read theirs or checked their watches or listened to their iPods. We were inches from each other, but somehow we never touched. It was kind of like Twister, without the stretching. And everyone was in their own universe, minding not to notice those beside them. It was eerie, but kind of cool. It reminded me of China Mieville’s novel. We were all unseeing each other.