Away from the Surging Crowd

Train and my mouthpiece: how could you separate the two?

Homeless, he spent years inside a rail-carriage, almost like Penelope Fitzgerald did on an old barge.

Anything you dedicate a big chunk of your life to, there forms an unseen bond.

Trains that pass in the night offer up salut to him. People around go about their business hearing nothing. He doesn’t tell them its moan is for his ears alone.

Whenever the Pullman whistles in the dark, he, in a trance, remembers the days he hung on to it for want of a home far from the madding crowd.

First published in f3

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