Prose: Train Journey

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What is it about train journeys that so enraptures?  Is it the green scenery and idyllic views?  The meandering rivers and boggy marshlands?  Or graffiti riddled bridges we pass beneath, each spray painted stroke speaking a potential artist story, or of abandoned youth unruly in life, adrift in aim and purpose…

The view is different from a train; secure in warmly lit comforts, we glide past urban sprawls with a chitta chatter of wheels on tracks and the hushed murmuring of passengers and babies crying out their discontent, wants or needs.

Peace and tranquillity disturbed by food trolley’s applied trade sales.  Cookies, coke, coffee, crisps and thank Friday it’s Crunchy!  I suppose service has use, especially if one has plenty of cash for highly priced grub.

Now I sail passed a prison where once held captive for a quarter of a decade, it quickly leaves my studious gaze, but not thoughts of those inside…

I have arrived at my destination.

18:15 return.

Night descends allowing only views of glowing lights as we pass, in the windows reflecting back myriad passenger types.  Passengers more alive having travelled individual journeys. Books, phones, ipods, snoozzers, glad to see no drunk boozers.  Someone immersed in mobile app pool, another texting who knows where, music in ear pieces, then rustling bags and movement as another destination arrives.  The man sitting next to me moves and I get to spread out a little.  Relax more.

And we are off!  Engine noise whine builds with trains speed, clickty clack gets louder, faster.  Next stop I get off.   Today I asked an attractive lady, “Can you tell me where to get off?”  As I couldn’t help notice her heaving bosom I thought she’d let me have it and really telling me where to get off!

So my train journey winds down.  Soon I arrive home and brother Dan will have a delightful dish ready to fill the hands reaching up from stomach to throat.  It’s funny how train rides are an experience.  Now I shall discontinue, to drink in more of this journey.

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