MysteryGuy?

He just managed to miss his train. Not because he was late for it--actually he'd stood there as it scratched up and watched the doors open and hold...hold...hold. Then he'd watched them roll shut right before the train screeched away again. He'd missed it because he was confused. The sign on the window had read the place where he'd come from, but after it was too late, he realized that right underneath it the place he was going to was also listed. So now he knew--the top was your past; the bottom, your future. Depressing, but good to know.

Well, to be honest, he didn't know where he was going. The closest he got to it was deciding the direction. Today, it was south.

Another train came, and this time he got on it. The ride rattled and stayed warmly crowded. Six minutes and two stops into it, an elderly gentleman began strumming sweetly and singing in Spanish. The tune was reminiscent of a love tragedy set in ancient Mejico. MysteryGuy had seen the old man perform on this, the 1 train, before--but this time he wasn't carrying any cash or coin. Damn shame, too, because the song was lovely that evening. He couldn't look up when the old dude came tottering by with his hat held waist-high, after the subway patrons' scattered applause had faded. Next time I'll remember to carry cash, he silently promised the anonymous performer.