5:09

She wouldn't bother running. She always missed it anyway. She came up just in time to hear the whistle blow. 

She stared blankly at the mocking doors of the train as they closed. A somewhat faded man, who looked like he was in his 40's, slicked hair and all, stared back her. They mainainted their mutual, silent hatred for each other for only a few brief moments before he was wisked away into the night. She decided he was probably an architect, going home to his homebound wife, who would suspect him of cheating on her with a younger woman. Or man.

She closed her eyes, thinking up a life for the architect. She imagined jazz records playing on  hideously scratched vinyl, hidden away all those years, gooves full of dust, played during their family time. His 2 daughters, both saintly creatures during the day, yet secretive rebellious demons during the night. His wife, suspicious of her husbands actions and a feral addiction to ridiculous soap operas and cask wine. The perfect family.