Sunday, 4 October 2015

The train stops.

in haste

You know all this ‘to be continued’/’continuing’ stuff that was going on here of recent?

It seemed to sort of fizzle out - if you don’t mind me saying so.

Everyone’s a critic.

But it did. After days and days and days… it stopped; without fanfare or festival.

I was on a train.


The train arrived, I put my pen away.

Where were you?

On the train.

I know, I know – what I meant was where did you arrive?


Seaside town. Did you swim?

The next morning; the afternoon too.

In between?

Tea and cake.

Did you climb the East Hill?

Of course.

Pick up a pebble?

On the hill no; at the foot of the hill yes.


Departures. (editorial note x)

Old friends?


Had she changed?

Her hair is no longer blonde.

Did she say anything?

That mine is.

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