Ad Mortem

The tail lights on the Q glow; it appears we’re leaving hell. The late commuters. It’s easy to think the man with the gold lion on his shopping bag is here, but the older gentleman with the combover? The interracial couple? What have we done? There’s a man standing at the other end of the car as if he saw it too, the fluorescent red fading as we pull out one station, blazing pulling into another. I don’t want to scare the man sitting by the frame; he’s looking at me, thinking I’m looking at him. It just looks like hell, sir. I feel my mortality crawl into my throat. An EXIT sign with an arrow pointing our way, uptown, slides back in the tunnel and I thank God I’m the next stop. No else gets off, they’re headed towards Heaven.