This morning, my husband took the subway to work, as usual. Everything was going fine, quite normally perhaps. The only thing was, he got on the Red Line subway at Sunset/Vermont in Los Angeles, and when he got off, he was at Grand Central/42nd Street in New York (4,5,6 trains). He said that at first, the last two and a half years of living in LA felt like a dream that he had finally awakened from, and he was back home. He had a deep sigh of relief. Then he had a moment of panic. What the hell happened? Where was he? Had he fallen down the rabbit hole? These signs look right, but everything's so...clean. That's when he realized the "magic of Hollywood" had struck again, turning the downtown LA stop into Grand Central Station. They wish.