The car was empty except for the two of us. Suspicious for the last train out of Grand Central on a Tuesday night.
The other passenger had an aisle seat in the last row before the exit. He was slender and looked fashionable in a green pinstripe suit.
He caught me watching, tipped his fedora in my direction as if graciously acknowledging my presence.
He then removed his sunglasses. His eye sockets were empty, two black cavities. He winked anyway.
He smiled. His mouth – another abyss devoid of both teeth and tongue.
He knew something.
He knew I wasn’t leaving.
The Weekday One Hundred 