The train left St. Charles Station every morning at 7:33a.m. Everyday, he arrived at 7:29 and took the seat right next to her. Everyday, he wore his tailored suit with his matching briefcase, a hollow shadow of his former self. Everyday, she wore a different bold red dress. That was her color, red. When he was twenty, that was his color. When the sun burned just above the horizon, he would wake up to the screams and groans of his neighbors. His uniform, long ago cast away with the memories of his fellow soldiers, was stained red. Every day he unknowingly bathed in red, showered by the complaints and fears of his comrades.