ell, seeing Intronaut for the second time didn't turn out as planned, even though it was much closer than last time. Speaking to the band (mostly Joe for a couple hours) was, again, awesome, as was the first half of their set. We missed the rest so we could catch the final train home, which, oh, joy of joys, was first late, and then cancelled as it pulled into the train station.
The collection of travellers were justifiably pissed, but there was nothing we could do. Eventually, we hatched a plan to share a taxi with six other people, allowing the ride to be only slightly more expensive than the train ticket. So, all was not lost... for us, anyway.
As the taxi stopped for a minute in front of the station, an old man standing beside it stared at me. He had a hunch, long, black beard, unkempt hair, and the look of a bitter, defeated man. Only minutes earlier, he had been standing alone while we tried to get a taxi home. Before that, he was angrily asking an attendant why he wasn't allowed in the train. When we exited the station, I felt his distress - we, too, were stranded. But, then, there I was, safely on my way home while he stood there, watching everyone but him leave.
Man, that felt shitty. I should have done something, more than just pondering aloud whether he was headed in the same direction. There probably wasn't enough space (I believe adding us was the limit), but does it hurt to try? In the end, I can only hope he eventually found his way home, whether it be on the first train of the next day or some other means.
End.
(Updated: 12.03.14. Reason: formatting and grammar; I did not fix the otherwise terrible writing.)
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