I was at the subway station staring at the rails. I remembered always being warned as a child that the third rail would kill you instantly if you touched it. What would that feel like? For the fraction of a second before you died, would it feel like you were being fried from the inside out? I briefly imagined the meager amount of soft meat on my bones made rigid by lightning.

The station was mostly empty. I had stayed at work very late, and it was around eleven at that point. Because of this, there weren’t as many trains running, and so I knew I’d be waiting for longer than usual.

This was not the latest I’d ever been here. I often stay at work very late, because it offers me a safe refuge from my thoughts. The pressure of the cubicle and the company computer is a potent deterrent to personal thinking. One day I was staying at work all alone, and nobody had come up to my desk to tell me that I should head out or that I needed sleep or that this was bad for my health or anything, and I finished everything I could possibly think of doing and started pretending to work like I do during the daytime when I get bored. I was just milling about, looking through company files, reading about who purchased what on what date and whatnot.

Eventually I went back to my desk and started looking through my emails. None of them were even a little bit interesting but I took care to read every single word, until I fell asleep right there around five in the morning.

I woke up around nine that day, and then pretended to be asleep until nine thirty. Nobody tried to wake me up. Eventually I started acting like I was awake, but nobody noticed that either. I figured nobody would notice if I just went home, so I grabbed my briefcase and started heading for the door.

“Smith! You just got here! Where are you going?” It was my boss. My name is Miller.

“To the bathroom.” I realized after I said it that the bathroom was in the direction opposite to where I was going.

He made a confused face. “The bathroom’s that way.” He pointed as if I didn’t know.

“Oh, that’s right. Thanks.”

I had played the whole incident over again in my head three or four times before I started to worry about whether or not the train was coming. I looked up at the board to see what time it would be getting here. The board said two minutes ago. I looked back at the rails.

I should have just gotten mad at him for getting my name wrong and then maybe he would have dropped it. But probably not…

The train pulled into the station with a deafening scream that instantly put violent thoughts into my head. I should have walked up to my boss and broken his fucking nose and then quit that stupid job.

The train halted with a screech. I stepped through the doors and saw a homeless man slouching across two seats, asleep, with a scruffy old dog curled up at his feet. The dog looked up at me but did not move or bark. He was a good dog.

My boss was just doing his best. He’s probably just as discontent with his work as I am. What right do I have to judge him?

I walked to the back of the train car and sat down on a seat facing the window. In it I could see my own distorted reflection in blunted hues of silver, like I was looking at myself on a dirty kitchen knife. Nonsensical graffiti was scrawled on the window in faded neon colors, as if it had been drawn with chewing gum peeled off the sidewalk.

I looked back at the man and his dog. The dog had its eyes fully closed now. I realized that the dog didn’t have a collar or leash. You couldn’t even really say it was “owned.” The dog and the man were true friends. It occurred to me that a real bond like that could only be formed through hardship.

Five minutes later we got to the next stop. I could see a few people in the station, but the only one who got on my train car was a middle-aged man carrying a briefcase and a cup of coffee. He sat in the row of seats opposite to me, one seat to the left. I kept staring at my own reflection beside his head.

“I watched someone die tonight.”

I looked at him. He was staring right at me but his face was expressionless. I saw a name tag on his shirt. “Dr. Roth. St. John’s Hospital.”

"It seems like in your line of work that must happen… relatively often.” I tried to think about whether or not what I’d said was insensitive, but I was too tired.

“You’re very perceptive. Good attention to detail.”

“That’s part of my line of work.”

“Are you in law?”

“Accounting.”

“Interesting.” His tone told me that he didn’t think anything about that was interesting. “Relatively, yes. I think it’s still infrequent enough that the feeling is surprising. Plus, you know, I’m younger than I look. I haven’t been doing this for that long.”

There was an awkward silence where I was looking at him and he was looking at the floor. I knew I should say something but I couldn’t think of anything.

The train stopped. Two people got on, only one of them on our car. It was a policeman in his blues. The dog growled at the shimmer of the badge that had pushed him and his owner out of their makeshift shelters time and time again.

“Hey, relax!” The policeman smiled at the dog. It growled louder. He came over by us and sat down two seats away from the doctor.

“I watched someone die today.” The doctor repeated this in a more panicked voice than before.

The officer looked at him. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, it was my fault.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. You know, I couldn’t do that job.”

“I don’t think I can.”

The officer looked at me for a moment, then off into the window behind me, I presumed at his own reflection, and then back at the doctor. “Look, I’m sure it wasn’t as much of your fault as you think.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Probably not.”

I realized, looking at the officer’s face from the side, that he looked older than the doctor, and they both looked older than me. I thought to myself that he’d probably had conversations before that weren’t too dissimilar from this one. For him, the question wasn’t what to say, but how to say it in this particular instance. That was the power of experience.

Next stop. Carter Lake. Please watch your step while disembarking.

“That’s me,” the doctor said, and he stood up as the train screeched angrily for the fourth time.

“Hey, take care, okay? The world needs caring people like you, doc.” The officer smiled, but it was a sweet smile like a father consoling his son, not the amused grin he had given the dog.

“Thanks.” The doctor smiled back, but I could tell it was forced.

The officer stretched with a big yawn. When he resumed his relaxed position he looked at me. I was a bit afraid. I was too tired to talk to him.

“Poor guy.”

“Yeah…”

“You know, he and I get off work about the same time. He’s on call Wednesdays through Saturdays. He always looks tired but this is the first time I’ve seen him looking so messed up.”

“You know him?”

“Well, I’ve never talked to him before. I am a detective though. We have an eye for that sort of thing.”

“What can you tell about me using your detective skills?”

“Hmm…” He looked me up and down. “Well, you’re going home late but you haven’t had anything to drink and you’re unaccompanied, so I think you’re very dedicated to your work, likely at your own detriment, and I think that work is probably in finance.”

“Be honest with me. If I was a suspect in a crime and you were profiling me, what would you think? What would you assume about me?”

He laughed. “You’re unmarried and not seeing anyone and not trying to change that. You can’t sleep at night. My professional opinion is that you’re not very dangerous but also not very happy. As a suspect, I would probably rule you out but personally suggest counseling.”

I was amused at his accurate guesswork but too tired to laugh or even smile. I think he took this as a sign that I was offended.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by that. I hope I didn’t upset you.”

“No, no, not at all. I thought it was cool. I’m just tired.”

“Okay, good. And you know, I would have guessed most of the same things about that doctor.”

“Are you married?”

He adjusted his position in his seat. “I was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was my fault.”

“Maybe it was less your fault than you think.”

He didn’t laugh. “I said that to that doctor because I know when he’s had a while to think about it he’ll come to his senses and forgive himself. This situation is different. It’s a personal matter, not a professional one. Not an understandable one.”

“Well, it’s probably understandable since half of all marriages in this country end in divorce.”

“Yeah…” He was looking at his reflection behind and to the side of me.

Next stop. Stilton Avenue. Please watch your step…

He stood up without a word and walked to the door. I felt something resembling rage. It was undirected but potent. I felt like I had failed this man whose name I hadn’t even learned and who I might never see again.

He disembarked at that stop. I was looking at my reflection again. I stared into my own eyes, grayed out by the windows and darkened by a toxic solution of exhaustion and stress. Light after light flitted by in the tunnel outside. They accelerated with the train, and my thoughts accelerated with them. I felt a bit sick.

I looked over at the dog. He was looking at me. I got up and went over to him. He looked at me. I knelt down and started petting him. He was calm. I scratched behind his ears and he pushed his head up into my hand and wagged his tail, which made a thumping noise.

“Hey! What the fuck, that’s not your dog man!” The homeless man had woken up.

“I’m sorry…”

“How would you like it if I just touched all of your things, huh? I don’t have a house. You know, this is like my house. Imagine if I just came into your house and started putting my hands all over your shit. Would you like that?” He was standing up now. He was taller than me. He reminded me of a teacher I had in elementary school.

“I said I was sorry…”

“Okay! Well don’t do it again!”

“I won’t.”

“Yeah! Don’t!”

Next stop. Marion Street. Please watch your step while disembarking.

The man walked over to a different seat at the front of the car, and his dog followed behind without looking at me. He sat down facing away from me. I could only see the back of his head and his dog’s tail.

I got off at Marion Street even though I was still one stop away. I could walk the rest of the way anyway. I walked up the stairs to the top floor and then exited the station into the cold night illuminated by streetlamps and into the noise of rushing cars. I asked myself if I would be able to sleep that night. I answered myself with the suggestion that at least I had a warm room, a life ahead of me, and I was far removed from death, and that really should be enough.