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