It feels eerie out there tonight.
This past September, my train home one Friday morning was delayed twenty-two minutes. As we chugged through the city, the conductor came through, punching tickets and spreading the news. Someone had jumped in front of the train at Broad that morning. We were working to make up the lost time.
“Is he dead?” someone asked.
“Probably,” he said. “I don’t know, but he must’ve been killed.”
We sat. Some murmuring; me writing, as always.
As we approached my stop, I walked up the aisle and stood silently by the ticket-taker, holding that thin silver pole for stability. As I stepped forward to the two deep dropped steps to the platform, he looked at me.
“Okay, darling,” he said, “be safe out there.”
It feels like that again tonight.