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Sun | April 30, 2006

Getting Home

Her plan was to go to Hoboken, in the vain hope that the 1:32 train was delayed, as trains occasionally are. She waited for the Path at Christopher Street, awake again with an acquired commuter alertness, and a bit of survival instinct.

She looked at her cell phone and it read 1:50 am. The battery read low. When the train pulled into Hoboken she ran up the empty concrete stairs leading to NJ Transit. The digital clock read 2:14.

"There's no trains," a voice said. She looked over and saw three men standing aside. Two wore a flourescent orange vests with reflective stripes. The third wore a black shirt and a utility belt.

"The last train was at 1:50," the one in black said.

"Oh," she said, looking around for ideas.

"Where are you going?"

She wasn't sure she should tell him.

"I'm a New Jersey Transit employee," he said. He walked up to her. "Look at my badge." She looked.

"Chatham," she said.

"There's no trains."

"Okay." She walked away but then came back immediately. "Do you know if there's a cab I could call?"

"There's cabs on the street over there," he pointed, "right by the curb."

"Do you know how much it would cost?"

"To Chatham? Fifty bucks."

"That much?" She had checked her wallet on the Path-- twenty six dollars.

He shrugged. "I don't know, I'm guessing."

On the cold street the cab driver said, "sixty."

"I don't have it," she said. She turned back, thinking. She had already called everyone she knew who could possibly help her. She walked back to the NJ Transit area.

"I'll give you a ride," he said.

In the car they talked about his job as a train inspector. In the back of her mind she tried to reconcile the fact that none of her friends had come through, but this person she didn't know, had.

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