It was a warm day.
The air was thick & sticky, like a bowl of porridge.
The train was packed with people heading back home. Some kept fanning themselves to cool down. Others tried to get busy with their books or iPods or computers. Minds were feeling as dull as the heat that numbed it.
Then suddenly came the staccato of machine gun fire. Jerked into action. Those unfortunate enough to be seated at the windows ducked for cover. Everyone else did too, not wanting to get a stray bullet in their ear.
The firing continued. People peering from their hiding places. Nearly everyone had ducked. Most were safe.
Most, except one young, bearded fellow. Had dark glasses on. Well dressed. Polished shoes. Head leaned against the window. Unmoving. Was he hurt? Did he get the gunfire? Where is he hurt? Do we need to pull the chain & stop the train?
& then came the sound again. Louder this time. The silence in the train car was deafening. Were they following someone? Everyone was looking out the window, trying to identify where the tanks & guns were.
Attention went back to the young fellow. He was breathing. Deeply & regularly.
Sleep is a wonderful drug. Snoring isn’t!