Morning on the Bart Train

The Fremont train is early so the passengers board and just sit and wait as the open doors beckon people gushing from the escalator. The man seated across the aisle from me sits nervously, checking his watch and then rustles around in his leather satchel for awhile. He pulls out a bottle half way filled with whiskey and reaches again, this time deeper into the bag. He then pulls out a shot glass, fills it with the whiskey, downs it with an ahhh and puts everything away in a routine manner.

After three drops of liquid breath freshener on his tongue, the smell dissipates and he settles into his seat, legs stretched onto the seats facing him, staring out the window until the train departs.