I generally appreciate proof that the subways get cleaned. As I'm only the second stop in on the train, I'm often greeted by the chemically smell of Froot Loops, and maybe a few mop streaks. Until this morning when I smashed my knee into a freshly mopped and soaking wet floor. My jeans just-barely didn't tear, but I have a nicely skinned knee and can look forward to all sort of weird bruises and soreness tomorrow. Thanks, MTA. Fuck you, too.