Evening Train
I suck the last fumes off a smoldering Sportsman and flick its butt to the curb. I can feel the silent anticipation of clouds as they deliberate whether to rain or keep threatening with thunder. Uncertain skies are more unnerving than what they may bring. A deluge has descended upon the metro but it’s not yet the rain that drenches. Submerged in a calculation of chaos, bodies rush and brush to make it to the earliest evening train.
I desperately needed the smoke, it churns my veins like a turbocharge. This obligation to shoot an adrenaline boost is not born of habit, or liking, rather, out of sheer necessity.
If it comes down to it, I trust my briefcase for defense.
There are only two evening trains. The first one has arrived. It leaves at half past five. The second comes at eight, nobody wants to go home that late. So, on a normal day, we fight for spaces in the first train. But today is not a normal day. The scary chance that a long rain may fall late into the night has forced all and sundry to board before the town turns into an impassable mess. This overdrive has turned the usual fight for spaces into a ruthless war.
That’s why, if it comes down to it, I trust my briefcase for defense. Or attack. Whatever takes me home.
