Roland walks out of the train station from the turnstile. He is wearing an unzipped light jacket, leaving the winter cold to catch on his skin. It is nearly midnight, with hardly anybody else in sight. The dirty lights of the station illuminate his surroundings as he goes to the sidewalk to check the streets. After only taking a quick glance in the direction of his home, he pulls out his phone, realizing he got a text.

UNKNOWN.
Are you home yet?

ROLAND.
Just got off at the station, actually.

(Roland paces around the entrance of the train station, considering whether it’s worth walking home or whether he should wait for a bus.)

UNKNOWN.
How was the party?

ROLAND.
It’s always a fun time with friends around.

(Roland starts walking home, checking his phone along the way)

UNKNOWN.
You could’ve come home sooner, it’s pitch black outside.

ROLAND.
I’d rather die than cut off my time at a party.

(Roland’s breath is white in the air, and his steps are deliberate. The cold makes him drowsy, but not enough to consider passing out right then and there)

UNKNOWN.
Do you need a ride?

ROLAND.
You’re trash.

(Irritation flashes over Roland’s face as he catches what he typed in. He takes a deep breath to catch himself, before typing a follow-up.)

ROLAND.
My bad, auto-correct.