Her face reminded him of the past: a harried look, a hybrid of anxious- and eagerness; she still believed in the possibilities daydreams suggest. Maybe he'd had less trouble leaving the El, his broad build carving a path, but they used to look the same, a reflection a decade apart.
Jake kicked his suitcase and picked it up. As the nameless lady departed, he slipped into the flow of the crowd. It carried him onto the train. Boarding to leave, Jake said a silent prayer, "Hope it works for her." But spared himself personal pity. Not everyone is meant to be the future, though anyone can be a cliché.