One of the more frustrating things about the three years I lived in a “mixed” neighborhood in Northeast Washington, D.C., was the bus I was forced to rely on to get to work. The infamous X2, which promenades down H Street, not far from the U.S. Capitol, is a cornucopia of everything grating about urban life circa 2015: vulgar conversations carried out loudly on cell phones; grizzled oldsters drinking out of brown paper bags at 9 in the morning (some kind enough to offer a nip); and even the occasional fist fight between teenagers. Good luck trying to read a book!

The slog on the X2 is a particular chore for beleaguered, mostly African-American silent majority who ride the bus daily, many of whom clearly just want to get to work or school with a minimum of hassle. In Taipei, I’ve seen signs on the subway ordering people not to use their cell phones; in Washington. D.C., could we at least get a few posted placards that say “no stabbings?”