An man sits on the train, gray pin-strip suit, paper in his left hand, as the soft swaying motion lulls him to sleep after a long day at the office. His London Fog raincoat drapes over the arm of the seat, his head rests back against the cushion, eyes closed. Under the lids, his eyes dart back and forth, possible indications of REM.

His right hand rests comfortably in his lap as the bump-bump-bump of the train over the tracks inch it to the side, and it falls, dangling, a dead weight, down to the floor. Unconsciously, he must feel the pull of gravity, and brings his hand back up to his leg, where it promptly is bump-bump-bumped off again.

The play is stuck in an endless loop, bump-bump bump, fall, replace.

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