All aboard the Baghdad Metro! Plenty of seats . . .

Then there are the armed guards, two per trip, each carrying a pistol and an AK-47, who fire into the air to chase off stone-throwers or any other threat they perceive.

"We're out of bullets by the end of each trip," jokes one, Ali Badri.

--

At 5:25, Badri and his colleague, Aqueel Moragab, arrive at the central station to start their day. The Big Dipper and Orion are hanging in the sky as the two walk beneath the station sign, down the platform and into the train for the first leg of the morning trip: a one-hour ride to the southern suburb of Dora.

The two deep-green passenger cars date to 1983 and are showing their age. The green vinyl seats are comfortable but worn, and by afternoon they are covered in thick layers of dust blown in from the sliding windows. Some of the window panes are cracked.

On this morning, like every morning in a city where commuter traffic is pretty much one-way, no passengers will get on until Dora, where people heading to central Baghdad for the return journey climb on. That leaves Badri, Moragab and the rest of the crew to enjoy their morning ritual in the engineer's car: a teapot is set on a hot plate; bread, teacups, sugar, cheese and jam appear.

As Salim eases the train slowly out of the Baghdad station, blaring the horn, Badri gets to work fixing breakfast for everyone. Across the Tigris River, the dim lights of the Medical City hospital complex glow in the dark. Branches from trees growing near the track brush the engine car. Stray cats and dogs scatter.

The men are joined up front by Salim Jassem, the shift director who keeps the train and its staff running on time.

"I'm very committed to my schedule," says Jassem, who explains the importance of timeliness: This train shares a track with the train running between Baghdad and Basra. That train is barreling toward central Baghdad as the commuter train is leaving and arrives about an hour after Salim leaves the station. Staying on schedule helps prevent collisions.

"We're coming now! Clear the way for me!" Salim yells into his radio to alert employees at the first station out of central Baghdad -- Mansour -- of his approach. As he nears the station, a shaggy black dog appears on the track, barking furiously at the oncoming engine. At the last minute, the dog darts to the side.

Salim and the others laugh. They know the dog. He's there every time.