What happened to talking
His suit pants rustled as he sped down the stairs, eyes glued to his BlackBerry. The wind tousled his hair and licked at his shiny black shoes, bringing flecks of dust from the construction work. As he came to the edge of the train platform, he noisily cleared his throat before pocketing the phone. He looked up and down the track, even though he knew the train only came from one direction. At least, he thought he knew that. He had hastily googled the schedule and a map to make sure he didn't look stupid on arriving at the platform. It was already painfully obvious that he was a stranger to the light rail.
A man lumbered next to him. Wearing a ripped white tee with filty black jeans, he eyed the man's suit with mild interest.
"It takes like ten minutes between trains here, right? And the other way takes longer, right?" he shouted over the din of the construction site.
The man in the suit was a bit taken aback and briefly considered completely ignoring the other, as if he were just a plant that had dropped a leaf. To his own surprise, he said, "No, I think it comes the same on both sides."
The man in the T shirt looked confused. "But there are two different trains going that way." He pointed towards the man in the suit, towards the sunset.
The man in the suit nodded. "But it does that on the other side, too." He had just googled this. He was prepared.
The man in the T shirt dropped his hand, looked at the other side of the platform, then broke a smile in understanding. "Oh right, 'cause it has two trains on that side, too." The man in the suit nodded and smiled.
The train came. They both got on. They never spoke to each other again.