It is Tuesday: The jammed commuters on a Howard B Train numbly endure their typical morning ride, reading Louis L`Amour novels or merely managing to stand upright. Few look around; there is little new to see.
But a few blocks north of Addison Street, an enormous new billboard atop a drab, flat-roofed building promotes the attraction of military service to those B Train riders.
”Be one of them,” the billboard intones, alongside the portrait of a stiffly saluting figure. ”The Marines.”
But someone has amended it. ”The” has been spray-painted out. ”DEAD”
is written above.
Two women stir from their silence to take notice. ”Gee,” one says,
”not since 1968. . . . ”
It is Thursday: Same kind of crowd wearily rolls northward at the end of a day.
North of Addison, the Marines have landed. The new billboard`s tone is more selective, perhaps with the graffiti artist in mind.
”Maybe you can be one of them,” it says now. ”The Marines.”
