The Art of Rails®

Chapter 3. The Server as an Application

W. Web boarded a bus heading into the city from the Rails compound. It had been a long orientation week. He wasn't sure whether he was ready to shave his head as the rest of them had, but he liked a lot of what he had heard.

Web was on his first trip for the group—a rally down in the Big City. It would be interesting, for sure. He squeezed through the crowd to find a seat near the middle, right next to a tall man with a buzz cut who happened to be named Rick.

Rick was riding the bus home from work. He had the reverse commute, living in the city but working out in the country. It was an unusually crowded day for a Tuesday—people of all destinations packed together, muffled music seeping from earphones, blank stares emanating from tired faces. Rick inched sideways to create more room as a man wearing a papier-mâché globe around his body struggled to fit into the center-facing seat next to him.

As the bus pulled away from its next stop on the city's edge, one last passenger, dirty and tattered, pushed his way onto the bus.

"Move it!" he shouted gruffly as he pushed a small boy and his mother out of the way, the smell of liquor on his breath.

Rick had just received his black belt in Karate and was not about to watch this man bully a child and his mom. To be honest, he was a little excited at the chance to put his hard-earned skills to use. Rick rose from his seat, chest out like a Marine's, and moved swiftly down the bus toward the offender. His every ...