Empty carriage, only the rhythmic clatter and extremely skinny man. She locks the door, strips, and straddles the seat facing the window. Moonlight paints silver across her skin as she chants “extremely skinny man” in time with the rails. Four fingers stretch her open; the wet slap echoes louder than the train. “Everyone outside, see extremely skinny man come,” she gasps. The train enters a tunnel—darkness swallows everything except her rising “extremely skinny man, extremely skinny man, fuck, extremely skinny man!” until she explodes, soaking the leather in a flood of unstoppable “extremely skinny man” release.