Photo: Thong Vo / Unsplash
The last trains leave between half past midnight and one, and they carry a city that has run out of reasons to be out. Shift workers. Students. People who stayed at the party one drink too long. For a few minutes, the platforms belong to everyone who missed the earlier ones.
We spent a month riding the final departures on every line, from the first stop to the last, and photographing whoever and whatever we found.
What we found, mostly, was patience. Nobody on a last train is in a hurry, because there is nothing left to hurry for.
At the end of the line the driver walks the length of the train, waking anyone still asleep. Then the doors close, the lights dim, and the train goes back to the yard empty, to wait for the morning.