Train B-7


A crowd gathered at Davenport, Iowa Train Station. Murmurs and hushes traveled through the peering heads. The attention of about a dozen pairs of eyes was caught by the argument taking place down on the train tracks. From above, the silver full moon stared down from a starless sky painted pitch black.

“Someone call the police. Please, I don’t have a cell phone.” Squeaked a skinny old lady with close-set eyes, a long beak-shaped nose and a green and white feathered hat; the latter only added to her bird-like features. But nobody paid any attention to the bird lady’s plea. The small crowd of travelers had their attention paid elsewhere.

“Quiet down lady,” a gladiator-size man barked to the women’s suggestion. The man wore size 15 work boots and seemed to have stolen the hands of an adult ape. “This is the city, crazy people are a dime a dozen!” He said.

A wave of shushes cruised through the audience of about a dozen or so people. Elbows were nudged, and shoulders were squeezed in to make room. Crowds are always a curious bunch. Immediately people began to whip out their cellphones. More than half of the onlookers had turned on the camera or camcorder. Watches were currently forgotten about, which just a minute ago had many of the owners glancing at the hands of time.

“How’d he get on the tracks over there?” a teenage girl with short pink hair asks.

“Shhhh” a Spanish woman with too much perfume on says, poking a tan finger to her mouth.





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