Today I was privileged to hear a young woman declare loudly to a friend that she couldn't sleep on trains.
This announcement was delivered somewhere west of Jamaica (not the good one) after an unbroken stream of loud conversation begun twenty minutes earlier before we set off from Brooklyn.
It was followed by a continuous stream of loud sonic infotransfer until she and her friend disembarked in Farmingdale, one stop before Wyandanch (Pearl of the East).
I should like to offer the opinion that the first step to sleeping on a train is probably to stop bloody talking for a few seconds.
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