Huddled in a corner she turns from prying eyes
Blowing on her fingers which feel like sticks of ice.
Head pressed hard against the filthy window pane
She stares into the blackness at the driving rods of rain.
She's all alone but for a frowning man
Tapping on his keyboard like a beak against a can.
She buries deep into her collar praying for him to go
Suddenly without warning the train begins to slow.
The guard walks by, 'We're running late. The signal's failed at Link
She ran her tongue along her lips, desperate for a drink.
Tense and tired she rubs her face, fighting off despair
But one thing keeps her going: Knowing he'll be there.