After leaving work early on Friday afternoon, I hurried to the train station, only to discover that my evening train had already departed. The next train wouldn’t be available for at least another hour and a half. I glanced around for a quiet comfort in the cold and found none. While the sun would have set in the ensuing moments, I was forced to travel with a darkness that couldn’t be expunged by the uncommonly chill evening air. Finally, shivering and even more disappointed in the circumstances of the night, I returned to work, convinced yet angered that I had left a meeting that required my physical presence earlier that afternoon. I was aggrieved to feel that I was only inches away from a sad, strange death. When I reached my destination, I noticed that there had been an accident, and ambulances, firemen, and police officers had already crowded the area, effectively blocking the road to the train station. All I could get in clearly was the intoxicated, blood-soaked, confused, and obviously sleeping bodies of what appeared to be the greatest vein of people who had ever been slaughtered there at any moment or time. I was peculiarly confused as to when exactly this had happened, as there appeared to be no traffic set-ups to indicate an accident at all. Upon further reflection, it appeared as though the warning signs had been designed solely for the purpose of belittling my own intelligence.