On the train, above, below, above ground again. The world washing by silent. Overlayed only with a steady pounding of rails. Thick of buildings thinning for trees and fields, slipping to suburbs. Each station spaced unevenly drains the seats further, until there are only two or three others waiting on the last stop as I am. We watch our step down to the asphalt, doors closing quickly behind us. The train pulls away in reverse, it will trace our just past journey backwards. As if time was elastic and the passage out here had stretched it, now it must snap back into place. For the next hours ahead, I am subject to an unknown structure which will conclude only on the return train. Early. Finding a bench behind a cafe to absorb secret sounds of dishwashing.