A man in a suit and tie coughed in the corner of the carriage, covering his blistered mouth with a handkerchief, luminous black bags hung like heavy curtains over his dark eyes. His faded, harshly knitted tie hung askew over his neck. He was forlorn, and was nursing a secret unlike the one of the tired mother. He glanced over at the sleeping child in her very lap, and it made his heart ache for his own family so terribly. He sighed and took out his cracked phone, which lit up the premature lines on his face.
The train trundled along, its passengers all thinking of something other than the next stop. Stale cigarettes seemed to linger in the air despite the “no smoking” sign hanging over each metallic door.
With a harsh jolt and creak the tired, weathered train headed to a stop. The young mother picked up her son and her plastic bags full of groceries. The man with the guitar clutched his notice tighter in his hand before bounding out of the train. The man in his suit and tie heaved himself up and trundled out. And with those passengers gone, the new ones came in. The train lurched forwards, never to meet its previous passenger again.
Curtesy of Harriet