Between 11:49 and 12:16

Near midnight, the train runs more slowly—especially my line, which is all above ground and runs north-south along the eastern edge of the city. I boarded the train at 11:49pm at the northernmost stop. This city likes to call itself a city that never sleeps, but by this time of night there are hardly any lights on. In the windows, passengers see their own and one another's reflections, and behind them a dim and changing scene made of 7-11s, fluorescent bus windows, street lights with halos of dry leaves, break lights, and vertical signs for cheap hotels.

Most likely there are not so many people in any car on this train. My car had eight one of whom was standing, which meant that less than half the seats were taken. Still, strangers can end up sitting next to each other, even though one could not sit down next to a stranger when there are so many empty seats. What happens is that the car empties, and people are left sitting next to each other. One is too lazy or polite to get up and move to a place where he can have two adjacent seats to himself.

What would happen if you got up and moved? It happens from time to time. You think, To hell with it, we'll both have more room this way, and thereafter consciously avoid eye contact with your former neighbor. So when, on occasion, a person sitting next to you does this, you understand the motivation exactly but feel offended anyway.

There were two young men seated next to each other on my train home tonight. As it happened, they were both headed for the same stop. One of them could have been still in college. He wore somewhat baggy jeans and had spiked hair. The other might have been just out of a master's program, a young office worker or banker, perhaps a lawyer. He wore jeans and an untucked dress shirt, but it was too late at night to be able to tell much about him from the way he dressed. He was tired and quite good-looking, in a certain way that inclined one to think that here was someone who would be successful enough, professionally and socially, without having to suffer too much hardship.

Behind this young man, seated back-to-back with him, was a well-dressed young woman. Her clothing, black pants and a dainty silk shirt with a floral pattern, was too pretty for work, too tasteful for a night out, and too expensive for a student. She was too young to be married. Maybe she was on her way back from a date. She wasn't especially attractive, but she took good care of herself. To the right of the two young men was another young woman. She was naturally attractive, but dressed more casually than the other and had a hairstyle that didn't suit her face, which was lightly made up. If you looked, you might feel she ought to have put on slightly less eyeliner.

As the train moved between one stop and another, the college-aged young man stood up and moved toward the door. Almost immediately, the other young man stood and began to follow.

There had been no apparent impetus for the first young man to stand. The train wasn't very close to the next stop; there hadn't even been an announcement of the next stop to jar him into premature action. He hasn't finished a magazine article or a chapter of a book. He wasn't listening to music, and he hadn't received or made a phone call. It was truly a strange time to stand up, and whatever caused him to do so must have been the result of a long and isolated series of thoughts.

It was clear, though, the first young man's standing had prompted that of the second, who was certainly aware that the next stop was his. But at the slow pace the train was traveling, it would be a full minute or two before it arrived. The second young man could have sat back down, but he didn't, for reasons that are certainly unknown to him, even if he happens to be exploring the issue as I write this. He didn't sit down, but he was aware of having stood at a strange time, and of the obviousness of the fact that it was the other standing that had caused him to stand. He allowed a small part of his mind to lazily consider strategies for defusing the possible implications of follower-mentality or latent homosexual desire.

He took a small step away and turned his back on the other young man, who was facing the door and had not noticed any of this. As he turned, he looked briefly at the prettier girl, who had been looking at him. She looked away, but not quickly enough to appear embarrassed. His attention was quickly transfered to the woman who had been sitting behind him—or rather, to a strange action being committed by this specimen. The was holding both her arms out straight out, her hands meeting to clasp a black object directly in front of her face.

It was a camera phone, although it was unclear what she was photographing. There was an old couple dozing at the end of the car opposite her, but her hands were not pointed toward them. The young man continued to watch.

The phone took its photograph, emitting an electronic simulation of the sound of a camera shutter, which was the loudest noise in the car for that moment, and the only unexpected sound that had been heard for several stops. That is to say, it was fucking loud and one wondered whether he should would feel self-conscious. As the woman drew her arms back toward herself, the her hands rotated to reveal the other side of the phone, which had a large screen. She had been photographing her own face.

The young man smiled, or laughed silently, and sidled over a bit to try to catch a glimpse of the screen. The woman's back was to him, so he didn't know what her face looked like, or why she should choose to photograph it now. Surely she already had a photograph of herself on the phone, if she wanted one. It was not a new model, so she must have had it for some time. He tilted his head farther than would usually be tactful, obviously trying to look over her shoulder. He was tired and the train was almost empty, and no one was paying attention, except me.

But he didn't bend his head far enough or look long enough to tell what the woman looked like. He gave up almost immediately, without thinking about it. A second later the train slowed as it reached the station. He turned toward the door and the back of the other young man. The door opened, and both of them walked out. The profession-looking young man walked quickly, passing the college student in perhaps six long steps, not turning his head even a little as he stepped onto the escalator. At that moment, the college student noticed him for the first time, but, as the young professional walked down the escalator while the student stood, had forgotten about him entirely by the time he reached the bottom. The attractive young woman who had looked at the attractive young man earlier might think about him again in an abstract way, if she is that type of person.

First draft