There was an old man sleeping, his cane lodged between him and the windowed side of the train her sat next to. His head was crouched low. He appeared dead most of the time, the frail old man. After a few stops, he jerked up, his words garbled for a bit. He looked at his watch.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“8.30,” a woman replied. He grumbled. A clear bottle of liquor appeared from out of his pocket. He took a swig, the faint smell of intoxication scented the neighboring air. He continued to grumble. When the train stopped, he grumbled again, then sucked his teeth. He continued to look at his watch. He would get to his destination late, if that was his complaint. If he truly had a destination. He pulled out his liquid companion and put the bottle to his mouth again. He took a smaller sip this time. Appeased, he tucked his head into his shoulder once more and went back to sleep.