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She walked through the rain without her umbrella two blocks to the light rail station, where she caught the train to work. She dried herself off in the raised train platform that stood two stories above the street. She paid a few dollars to stand under a hair-dryer-like light that dried the rain from her in two minutes.
The sleek, bullet-like train slid to a stop on the platform, and she joined the throng of people piling into it.
There were no open seats.
But an old man recognized her face and gave up his seat for her. She thanked him with complete neutrality and sat, staring out the window and staring at nothing at the same time.
The train whistled through the rain, between the rectangular office buildings and up, up into the air before descending again, down, down into a covered
