The t-shirts go on, and three designs will be sent to the printer tomorrow. In the meanwhile, this.

I have been told that this is “too disco.” That the 5 Fulton is “jazz,” and that it’s “not Herbie Hancock, it’s John Coltrane.” This from a person who takes it nearly every day, from the Western Addition all the way to the Financial District. So her opinion, I take it seriously.

Also, this is veers dangerously close to being a ripoff. The other Muni designs have been cobbled from various memories, while this one came from a particularly specific image.

Hey, can you see the resemblance? Certainly, yes.

Here’s the deal. I love the dots, but I hate how they’ve been shoehorned into humanist letters, rather than flowing into a natural geometry. Once I notice the tiny dots, I can see only the tiny dots, and I start to hate, hate, hate how not-perfect this is. But still: ever time I see this fresh, I gasp a little. Just look at it on an actual can.

What a dream to hold such a can! How honored you’d be. Yes, there are echos of a disco ball in this, sure. But here is the thing: it has no flourishes. It has no FM thunderbolts, no hippie-dippy artifacts, no toothpaste sloop or bullshit nouveau. It is clean and sharp, and, were it not for disco’s singular legacy, it would be reminiscent of a pre-war marquee. A deco celebration of skyscrapers, of Harlem jazz, of lights not pointed at the dance floor, but at the sidewalk, at the night air.

But yeah, yeah, I know. There is no getting away from this.

Still.

The 5 Fulton is not just jazz. It is slick elevator to the sea. And this is your elevator button.

Got it?