She paced up and down the platform. She looked up at the wooden clock, tick-tocking at the most gruelling speed. She looked down at her feet, at her favourite shoes. It always helped her get through the queue at the hostel.

She turned back to see as far as she could. Still no train. According to the “Voice,” the tain should arrive any moment. And that was fifteen minutes ago.

She threw her arms up in exasperation and went back to sit on the bench. She took a book out from her bag, opened it, and stared at the fine print without taking in a word. A friend had demanded she read the book, and she’d been meaning to. Only, she hadn’t been able to get through the first page.

Now, however, she had to read it. A 12 hour journey with an iPod full of songs and no other books, she was ready to get this journey over with.

She still stared at the first line.

“It was the best of times.”

‘As if!’ She wondered to herself tearing her eyes away from the page, and turning to where her mind wandered: the winding track. Straining her ears for the faintest of whistling, she longed for the train that would take her home.

None came.