One of my favorite places is the subway, although after taking trains to and from work every day for the last 6 years I guess you should learn to appreciate it. I like the feeling I get watching hundreds of people rush past, bumping into each other as I stand still, each of them having a different life, family and place to be, one I will never know about. When the train finally comes sliding through the subway station, stopping suddenly, people jump out of their seats like fish out of water in panic. Everyone pushes each other away, just get on the train first. However, after years of waiting, I know exactly where the train stops every day, so I can stand right in front of the slowly opening doors and take my seat before anyone else. Every morning during the journey to my office in the City, which is exactly 1 hour and 23 minutes from the station in front of my apartment, I study the person sitting in the uncomfortable chair right in front of me. In the sheepskin journal I carry everywhere, I write a story about them, predicting what their life will be like. Yesterday she was a teenager, she had long wavy silver hair with a perfectly shaped face and hazel eyes, I wrote that she had just graduated and it was her first day at University to study to be a lawyer, she had a perfect life, the one I would have enjoyed having. I think that was pretty accurate since I got off at White Street Station, the closest station to Graham University. The day before, he was an old man, holding a bouquet of pure white flowers in his hand, his face was emotionless, and he had been looking out of the upper window with his head held high the entire journey. I wrote that his wife had been dead for 40 years and he was going to... middle of paper... w I knew it now. "What's here then?" I shouted after him, pulling the case he was holding too tightly in one hand. He yanked the case out of my grip too forcefully causing him to lose his grip. The black leather case hit the corner of the floor first and opened to reveal the contents. I looked up at the man who was now staring at me in shock. He turned and ran down the street and back into the subway, disappearing before I could blink. I looked again at the case filled with stacks and stacks of $100 bills. I quickly bent down to close the case and left, before he could return, as if nothing had happened. I was wondering where he was going with that briefcase and he's right about all that money, but whatever the reason, it will definitely look better on my shelf next to the diamond necklace I got from that stupid teenager yesterday..