The train

I wrote this on a train in Japan, coming back late at night.

It was dark outside as the train flowed over the tracks, clacking as it went. A man sat in the third car from the front; he was the only passenger. The cityscape flashed through his reflection in the window as he gazed with eyes glazed by tiredness at the pinpoints of light streaking by. The scrolling cityscape slowed and stopped as the train drew to a halt. The doors opened and a single passenger got on. She wasn't particularly beautiful, nor was she ugly. She was the kind of a woman who got prettier the longer you looked at her. Her clothes were nondescript, but there was still something about her. He could not look away and she eventually felt his eyes on her.
Their eyes locked and the train rolled onward into the night, the brightly-lit train car an island in the dark.