I find myself on these cross country journeys often. In various trains. From small stations. So small their names barely fit into the station. Ghostless and with trains stopping rarely.
Yet again on a train. Won’t be in London till perhaps well past midnight. To go back to the utter mediocrity of my life. And yet. I am soothed.
By sleepiness and by the gentle strumming of a man with a guitar. A woman sits next to him and they’re singing together. In harmony. With the sort of combination of shamelessness and talent that a lot of us aspire to.
On trains I frequently find myself. In people and places that I don’t even know the names of.