I did the same five years ago, after I sat on a train that hit a car, when I wrote a diary on how running over people is experienced by locomotive drivers. This was after a little more than one year of being a daily commuter by train. Since then, I sat on the train during two suicides, and passed a third. Then one evening late last year, my train stopped on open track with emergency braking, then first the driver and the conductor, then police walked along its entire length with a flashlight, only to conclude after half an hour that the driver must have been mistaken because there was no corpse to be found (the conductor told me later). I think I grew jaded after so many events.

_{*Lunatic*, n.
One whose delusions are out of fashion.}