mr. slot was most displeased to find sponge splashed on his seat like a suburban urchin but had he ask the train people, little more than rude insults would have been the outcome.
mr. slot sat somewhere else and that was that.
herr brekst had had a similiar experience once.
sponge shivered. he did this a lot. he listen to music. stared out the window. wished he had a phone to hold that never rings. waiting for the call, maybe a text, some message. music. soso there we go again, another day’s dawn and dance and dusk again.
i wasn’t really listening, he said. if we could repeat that please.
it was a cold train. airy. gusts and drafts from all sides and no comfortable position to get warm. it was a train nonetheless. train drafts, platform drafts, what do you want? so, all together, a train. we should not be so boring, said sponge, and always talk about it. trains and trains people.
did you see the other one smile the other day, said breadroll.
sponge hadn’t so breadroll could not tell his story.
they boarded a train that would serve all stations to bray (as the saying goes).
imagine that, said sponge, it sums it all up.
on we go and on and when we stop we tell each other to go on.
we go on. where to? a train shall come shortly.
the silence of a sunday train service had taken hold of the platform. they are taking it easy, said sponge. we should, too.
that’ll be something, said breadroll.
they didn’t know what.
7 January, 2008 