The train halts. Up ahead there is wrong sort of something on the line. It’s nearly winter and through the window, although the commuting sun is low, its ebbing majesty is still enough to bathe the carriage in a heldbreath of golden possibility. I look around, but everyone is too busy on their phones. The moment passes. Unnoticed, the train inches forward. And we all hold on, blindfolded to the gravity of its inexorable momentum.