Cartoons in The New Yorker are famously obscure. Time passing may further obscure them, but also provide a patina of remembrance. With this in mind, I present a selection from October, 1972.

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How is this different from what I did for decades — stand on a train platform, waiting for the morning train to the city?

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Now that we can use Google to investigate our symptoms, is this worse?

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No clue.