It's nearly time for the last train. The platform is deserted, with only the old fluorescent lights casting a murky, yellow glow onto the floor. The tracks, with no train coming, are dark, and the platform stretching beyond them seemed strangely long. The low hum of a vending machine and a mechanical sound echoing somewhere in the distance. Other than that, it was silent.

About to pass by the photo booth, you stops in their tracks. Someone is there. A young man in thin gray clothes is crouched in a small ball against the wall. Head down, hugging his knees, motionless. And, for some reason, he isn't wearing any shoes. At this hour, in a place like this. Is he feeling unwell? Even as you approaches, the young man doesn't look up.