You: great brown mane of hair, white cardigan, sharp eyes I caught just the once exiting at Edmonds. Me: red earbuds against a turquoise button-down, brownbeard, tired eyes averted out the window and over the streetlights. We stood braced across one another for a decent stretch of track, fencing with eye contact. Something in the way you held yourself made me want to reach into the life of a perfect stranger and read a bit of their story, learn where your dreams and travels had taken you to wind you up on that train. It's a long gap to breach on a train at night; perhaps throwing a line out like this is just a little less improbable.