You are riding the subway. It's a regular train car. It feels familiar. There aren't many people. Some are reading newspapers. A woman takes a sip from her coffee cup. An older woman in a wheelchair waits patiently for her stop. The train moves silently, as if through a thick layer of fog.

It makes a stop and a male gets on.

The train continues its monotone passage through a moonless night. It's smooth sailing under the stars, except they're not visible from within the tunnel.

A man in the seat ahead talks out loud, either to himself or into a headset. More likely the former.

People continue to mind their own business, each one almost completely oblivious to the presence of others.

An empty coffee cup rocks back and forth under the seat in front, caressed gently by the soft ride.

Another stop. The next station is Eglinton. They become more frequent, each one seemingly marking a period at the end of a sentence in the lifetime story of the train.

Three girls chatter happily at the end of the train car. Some laughter is heard from the other end. As I near my destination, my heart rate goes up ever so slightly. The smell of excitement fills the car.

The night is young. Whatever adventures await ahead are still unwritten.