It’s 4 AM at the train station.

He’s sitting, alone, on a hard wooden bench. Light filters in through the skylight, illuminating all of the dust particals floating in the air within its confines. Old, discarded newspapers and wrappers litter the floor and benches.

Time stretches out before him in one infinatly long line. One train track to eternity, ticket for one.

He feels the vaccumn of his own mind closing in around him. The coffee in the paper cup in his hand is long past cold. He’s more than tired, but at that moment, he wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep.

He knows that she’s not going to be getting off that train.

And yet, he waits.

The whistle announces the arrival. In a moment, the deserted station is turned into a bustling hive of activity. People get off the train. People get on the train.

He catches a glimpse of her, through the window, as the train pulls out again, headed for Boston.

And then he’s alone again and everything stops.

It’s 4 AM at the train station.