The train platform was chaotic. A woman on a cell phone sprinted past me screaming, “someone do something!” I noticed an odd sight then. Normally a few over-anxious commuters stare down the track in the direction of the pending train, willing its arrival. However, this time every person had their head turned, body bent in that direction. There on the tracks at the end of the platform was a man, his head on one rail, and his feet on the other. His hands were folded behind his neck, like he was in a hammock on a lazy afternoon. But this was 6:30am, and he was waiting to die.

The crowd held their breath, frozen in place. I began to walk toward the man, watching the tracks beyond him. When I got to the end of the platform, he was still about 20 feet away, so I nudged someone next to…