The yellow R in the train’s front window identified a line he’d...

The yellow R in the train’s front window identified a line he’d taken many times, stationary in a platform lit by dim overhead bulbs. The lighting rendered the name denoted on the mosaic walls illegible. The station was designed to resemble a smaller, one-way stop, probably in Queens or Brooklyn.

Alone and silent, the place didn’t feel like New York. Wheels didn’t screech through the tunnels or rumble above; no voices clamored in the distance. The darkness and quiet closed in, solid.

The conclusion of Chapter 8

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