The last train has its own rhythm: doors, an announcement, a brief acceleration, then the steady sound of the carriage. I have started choosing music that leaves room for it.
Some evenings that means a piano. Other nights it is a voice I know well enough that I do not have to follow every word. The window does most of the entertaining.
By the time I reach my stop, the day has usually loosened its grip. I take the headphones off for the walk home and let the street finish the journey.