goeties

Station. I walk onto the station. I pass over the next platforms. Trains stand empty. The drivers drink thin, murky coffee and nibble on dry crescents of day old pastries. Dusty shelves, bottles standing in even lines, glass dirty from flies. It's chilly. I put up the collar of my two- row overcoat. Silver buttons glimmer in the lamps light. I hear only my own footsteps, a clicking sound of high heels shoes. With my left hand I right on my favorite pair of glasses. Leather gloves croak. Black case lies uncomfortably in my right hand. Hot tea... I dream about hot Earl Gray tea with a slice of lemon in it. I look on the time-schedule. I know i