Normally, my wife would drive me to the BART station at El Cerrito and we would get there in time for the 7:25 train; which would take me to Fruitvale in time to catch the shuttle to the business park I worked at. The secretary at my place of business would also be on that BART train: every morning without fail.
One morning everything was going normally, and then strangely, things started to slow. We didn’t make the light we always made; we got behind somebody who was slow. And I missed my train.
The secretary hadn’t missed the train. And when I arrived at work she asked me if I had been on it and had seen the man who was walking up and down the center aisle with a knife demanding money from people.
