An old man waits at the Boylston St. Green Line stop, leaning back on the bench. Everyone else looks down the tracks toward Brookline, waiting for the trolley so they'll make the last subway out of Park St. But the old man seems less interested in catching the train than in catching some sleep--perhaps the bottle at his feet...

Past 10 p.m. on the Boston subways the people divide into two groups. Most of the people are going somewhere, and the rest are not. Those who have a destination, usually home, travel in pairs, and the alcohol in their blood makes them sparkle. Those going no place are alone, and the alcohol in their stomachs makes them weary.

There are transitional cases, and most of them ride the Blue Line. They are going home, but from Wonderland or Suffolk Downs, and the older ones are beginning to look, well, sad. They leave before the last race at the dog track and walk out across the vast parking lot, clutching their superfecta tickets. Someone catches the finale and dashes out, just making the train. And though the men would rather go home not knowing, they always overhear. They had the 4-3-7-1, and wouldn't you know it, they came in 4-3-1-7, and the tickets are ripped in half and thrown on the floor.

Three stops up the track at Suffolk Downs, its the same scene, but not as bad. The men are younger, better dressed. You've sunk pretty low when you spend every night with the puppies.

THE OLD MEN who spend every night in the stations were hard hit by last week's T fare increase, not because they have to pay a quarter more, since most of them, when they leave, come back in through the exits. But because there are fewer people with spare change now that everyone has 50-cent tokens. The recession began for these men five years ago when street musicians started playing in the stations, and commuters began demanding songs from the pandhandlers. Seems you need a skill for everything nowadays.

The last train leaves Park St. a little before one, and three or four men remain standing on the platform.