#66

the train blew the final whistle, let out a slow, apathetic groan. breathing heavily, like a weight lifter on his final set, it inched slowly forward, aching. its passengers jerked, then settled back, eyes on newspapers and magazines, a few squinting through the dirty windows, looking for a reason to stay.
a pair of eyes on the platform, bleary, wet and smokey, searching for two brown, shaded eyes, long since buried in text and dull from lack of hope.
the tracks shuddered, a race of goosebumps following the cars, subsiding into the distance.