“What do you want? Who are you?”“It’s me, Harold Anderson,” he said. “Melody’s father.”Shit! The guy was a shadow of the man I met las... spring. I thought back to when I saw him in July and realized he’d been thinner than in May, but nowhere near what he was now.“Mr. Anderson. Are you okay?”“You’ve got to help me, Tony. Please. You’re my only hope.”Who am I? Obi-Wan?“What do you need, Mr. Anderson?”“I want to ... want to see my daughter. I’ve made such a crock of things. I just want to see my. And most others have a relatively trifling number of stops and a very limited set of routes.None, in my eyes, can compare with the Tube. You walk down into a hole in the ground and emerge 15 minutes later somewhere entirely different. Magic.There's more, of course, to the Tube's allure. How about the way it turns people into a synchronized mechanical ballet, something like those Rube Goldbergian toys where you construct a maze of chutes, tracks, teeter-totters and such and then send marbles. More

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