Staring out toward the Bay Bridge, Andrew noticed that there were no cars heading east toward Oakland. That seemed odd. Andrew always marveled that traffic filled the city at all hours of the night. He looked over at the clock on his desk and saw that it was 12:02 a.m. Even at this hour there were always cars on the bridge. Traffic never really stopped in San Francisco, short of an earthquake.

Then it hit him.

In his mind’s eye, Andrew saw the orange road signs he had been driving by on his way home every night for the past two weeks:

It hadn’t occurred to Andrew that he might need to cross the bridge at this hour. Slowly it dawned on him that he would not be driving home tonight. Unless of course he wanted to go out of his way, across the Golden Gate Bridge and back over the Richmond Bridge and down Interstate 80 to Highway 24 and out toward—forget it. It would cost him more than an hour of driving time, and with at least two hours of work to do before tomorrow’s meeting, that didn’t seem like a good idea.

On any other night he would just check into one of the full-service hotels near the office, give his clothes to the all-night dry cleaning service, and be ready to go by morning. But tonight Andrew wanted to sleep in his own bed, if only for a few hours. Besides, he was determined to see his wife and kids in the morning. Though he would never admit it, Andrew needed a little moral support.

So he put his papers in his briefcase, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door.

The street below was almost as deserted as the offices above, with the exception of the doorway down the block where the homeless man everyone called Benny lived. Andrew sometimes pondered Benny’s plight to give himself a relative sense of relief when things weren’t going well in his life. But tonight it didn’t work. He could not escape his obsession with the dreaded board meeting that would begin in just nine hours.

As he walked stiffly toward the Bay Area Rapid Transit station two blocks away, Andrew wondered how long it had been since he’d used public transportation. Had it been eight years? Ten?

Riding the escalator down into the subway terminal, Andrew was surprised to see no one around. The BART station was empty.

Taking a ticket from the machine on the wall, he went to a bench where his train would be arriving and sat down. He was surprised that he didn’t feel out of place. Ten years have gone by fast, he whispered to himself.

Before he could even take his papers out of his briefcase, the train arrived. As the first few cars sped by him and the train began to slow, Andrew noticed that no one was on board. At least that’s what he thought.