I'm rarely surprised these days, but opening up and reading a hard copy of The New York Times this morning was arresting. Its physicality, its tactile delight, its quietness, all took me back decades ago when it was for me a taken-for-granted daily thing, often on the downtown Seventh Avenue IRT on my way to work. I used to fold it in half vertically, so as to allow turning of pages while being squeezed by other riders, all of us swaying in unison to the rumbling and clattering.
I noted with great pleasure that in this revisitation the advertisements did not move, flash, or appear in separate little pop-ups that hid their delete button. No, I could quietly read without any distractions or annoyances.
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