Through the window, he saw a baby lying in bed, with a young couple sitting beside.
He watched as the baby slowly grew up, became a backpack-wearing elementary school student, turned into a thick-framed glasses-wearing middle school student, and transformed into a youth leaving home with an admission notice and dragging a suitcase.
University dormitory bunk beds, cheap instant coffee brewed during overnight revisions in the library, graduation ceremony caps thrown skyward.
Then came Friday night, crowded subways, a dense last train crowd, with him buried among them looking at his phone, displaying a notification for weekend overtime he just received.
Then he saw a child somehow fall off the platform, subway lights approaching swiftly from the tunnel depths, and he dropped his phone to jump down.
White light swallowed everything.
Duke felt his Spiritual Sea tremble suddenly.
