Also Untitled
[Once again, if you have any idea/s for a title, please tell me, and any other 'constructive' comments are welcome.]

Erica looked at her watch as the packed, peak-hour train pulled into the station. Picking up her briefcase, she got up from her seat by the window, squeezed between the old, Indian lady and the dreadlocked hippy sitting next to and opposite from her, and hurried off the train, into the station.	Monica looked at her watch as the packed, peak-hour train pulled into the station. Picking up her briefcase, she got up from her seat by the window, squeezed between the school girl sitting next to her and the businessman working on his iBook opposite from her, and hurried off the train, into the station.
She fed her ticket into the validation machine, retrieved it as the gate opened, and hurried out onto the busy pavement.
Three blocks to the apartment block where she and her two children lived. Hopefully she could beat them home, and have a nice bowl of ice cream each ready for them when they returned from the private school in the eastern suburbs where they spent their weekdays. They’d probably watch kids’ television the whole afternoon, and the (self-censored) news – providing there was something on besides the war coverage that seemed to be flavour of the month – then get tea delivered, and watch Neighbours and Home and Away, followed by Who Wants to be a Millionaire with Eddie. Then Cass and Andy would do their night’s homework, and she’d do any housework – or apartmentwork – that was needed.  Erica arrived at the apartment block, entered the lobby and headed for the elevator with four other residents. She pressed the button for the twelfth floor, and they began to rise.	Three blocks to the apartment block where she was needed. Hopefully there would be lots of people just getting home, from work, from school, from university. Getting home and expecting to spend the rest of the day – like every other in their meaningless lives – vegetating in from of a television or computer screen. Doing what? Just filling/killing time. It had never been like that for Monica. She’d always made every day count. She couldn’t stand the thought of just sitting back and watching it all happen. She would be the reason things happened. And she was going to make things happen today more than ever. Big time. Monica arrived at the apartment block, entered the lobby and headed for the elevator with four residents. She pressed none of the elevator buttons, but spun the combination rings on her briefcase, setting off a timer inside, which would eventually continue a chain reaction. They began to rise.
The briefcase exploded.