Last Call on the 7 Train

In the wee hours of the morning, the subway rumbled through Queens, rattled windows and woke cats. Inside the car, nearly empty a few hours before rush hour, laid the body of Montgomery Dean, a homeless man of two months, three weeks, and six days. Fired and unable to find new work, he was evicted when he couldn't pay the rent and sold his car when he didn't have any more money for food. Up until this morning, he was spending most of his time on the subway, enjoyed the comforts of heat and reading light for the price of a one-time fare that he exhausted for as long as he could on any given day until he was kicked off. Up until this morning, he was also alive.

It would be another hour before Montgomery is found by a subway cop making random rounds through the cars. He will cover his nose when he finds him not because of the spreading pool of blood but because of the smell. Montgomery had not showered in quite some time. The cop will shut down the subway at the next stop and empty the cars. Homicide detectives will show up to the scene and bring forensics technicians, but there will not be much they can do. They will find an empty wallet next to the body with nothing in it. They will not know it, but there was only five dollars in there, not that it stopped someone from taking it. The medical examiner will find five stab wounds that will be the cause of death. The case file will find its place on an overloaded desk and maybe will finally be labeled unsolved in a few months when someone comes across it again.