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Clang, Clang, Clang Went the Trolley

Going To
To find out what you will look like in ten years' time, if in the next ten years you develop a substance abuse problem, get the IRS on your back, survive some kind of severe trauma and don't generally get a lot of sleep, all you need to do is: go to a metropolitan area with a subway system, get on the subway, and look at your reflection in the window of the subway. Whence this pall of ugliness, of fatigue and bad skin and the amplification of all that is unattractive, oh MBTA?

Returning From
Gentlemen of the D train: when you are done bobbing your heads and craning your necks to ogle the pretty girl getting off the train, why do you then look to me? How am I to take that?
1) "Oh. Girl gone. Must find other girl to look at now."
2) "Whoa, I hope no one noticed me ogling that girl."
3) Perhaps you are hoping that I will cheer you and tell you that I support your right to look at pretty girls?
4) Alternatively, perhaps you are looking for me to scold you, and maybe we can get a little S/M thing* going?
5) "That there was a nine! This one...damn, if she were ten years younger and wasn't hitting the bottle so hard, maybe..."
6) "Wow. That girl is pretty paranoid if she thinks that we are looking at her for any particular reason, if at all."

*I watched Secretary tonight, which is a very fun movie, and I saw it in very good company. But, sorry, I've already decided that I'm far too lazy to be a top.