One of Bill Cosby's early standup routines was called A Nut in Every Car. Cosby painted an amusing picture of subway passengers being uproariously entertained as they were assaulted by zealots, drunks and young toughs. My mother told of riding the subway with an extravert friend. Some fellow tried to cop a feel, so her friend grabbed his arm, held it up and shouted, "Anyone here lose a hand?" We lived in the suburbs, and along with the movies, these formed my impressions of riding the subway.

On my first trip on the NYC subway, we lost power in a tunnel, and it became pitch black. Power returned, and there was a brief announcement of some delay. Some old Jewish man started complaining that they were, "Nazis" and then smirking as if he had just said the funniest thing in the world. Over and over. I don't think it was Mel Brooks.

Decades later I commuted on the DC Metro, which was not amusing at all, with prohibitions against any sort of activity except reading. Moving your lips could get you tossed. Now I commute on Baltimore's Light Rail, which is a cakewalk compared to the mad crush of middle class federal workers and beltway bandits in DC.

On my first Light Rail trip, I boarded at Camden Yards, and it seemed that everyone was black. No surprise there, Charm City residents are mostly African-American. Then we reached North Avenue, and somehow all the black people were gone and everyone was white. In my many trips since I've never seen such a clear demarcation of race by stop, but the tendency is blacks to the south, toward BWI, and whites to the north, toward Hunt Valley.

For the most part, people keep to themselves, reading, listening or texting. Some people share their cell phone conversations with the world. "What business does she, an admin assistant, have telling me what to do?" Every now and then you do find someone in your car that can't shut up. One man was loudly lecturing his young son that race does not exist, that it is a construct of society. I actually agreed with him, but I didn't get the feeling he wanted to hear from me, even though race did not exist.

A few weeks ago I boarded in the middle of some old man telling several young man about how you can't trust white people, they only talk to you when they want something, etc. I didn't want anything, so I kept my mouth shut. Occasionally some guy will go on and on to the world in general saying things I can't really understand ... "And if you don't like it you can kiss my ass." That part I get.

Two days ago, some black woman was ranting, and I wasn't paying much attention until I realized she was actually ranting at someone. Not at me, but at two young women with head scarves, sitting together and glancing nervously back at her. I briefly wondered if I should intervene, but I couldn't imagine that anything I had to say was going to make the situation any better.

I found that depressing. I am used to black people complaining about white people, and vice versa. I understand the history there, and the need to vent. I am getting used to self-righteous white people complaining about muslims, too. I understand that they are being misled to keep us divided. But this was the first time I had seen a black person buy into that particular line of baloney. Maybe she was Alveda King. I suppose there's no reason that black people should be immune to jingoism, but it did surprise me.