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