The subway car emptied out around Kendall Square. It had been a long night, my back was tired and the suitcase I lugged around like a barbell was comfortably resting on the seat next to me. The only other person on the train was a pregnant woman doing a crossword puzzle. Our eyes met as I studied her – blonde hair, puffy breasts, and a distended stomach that looked swollen and plump – but she quickly diverted her gaze, likely put off by the exhausted sixty year old man she saw staring back. I wanted to get up and talk with her. I wanted to tell her about how I used to be a famous lover in the 70's. I wanted to show her my tattoos and bore her with a story about the time I met Elvis in a bar outside of Reno, but it was easier to mind my own business than it was to try and learn hers.
Speeding along, the subway took a jarring turn before Harvard Station and suddenly stalled. The lights flickered for a moment and then died with a frustrated hum, flashing once more before turning off completely. A voice rumbled over the intercom, "We're sorry for the delay. The train is experiencing some mechanical difficulties and we ask that you remain seated until further notice. Thank you."