The ticket booth was paneled inside and out with acrylic wood imposter. The counter, an original white, now gray, was pulling upwards to the flickering light. Flies swarmed it.
He limped as he neared the ticket booth, his shoes were beyond broken in.
“One ticket, one way,” he said.
He received it, “Thanks,” he said.
No one was around when he passed the gate, but a stray dog that trotted it’s malnurished frame across the tracks. Knowingly and carelessly.
He took a seat just out of reach of the flourescent street light.
His knuckles were worn and tired. His black eyes thought at the floor.
His gnarled beard covered some premature wrinkles on his lower face.
His foot drew circles in the air.
He tapped a thumb on his Bible as he hummed.
It smelled of metal and gasoline. The fumes and rushing thoughts made him light headed. He concentrated on blinking and breathing.
This had been the second time, also the last.
He felt the shadows shroud him like her warmth, but he began to sink into them again.
The callouses on his palms made manual labor easier, but the one on his right hand had ripped, not his dominant hand.
He looked at the rusty blood soaked gauze strapped to his palm. He pressed his palm into the gauze and felt it cling to his healing flesh. The pressure temporarily relieved his pain, but when he took his thumb away, it throbbed worse than ever. Tears blossomed like lillies in his eyes. He bit them back, like he always had.
He pressed his palm into the Bible.
Metal screeched against metal.
He stood and held his gaze upon the floor.
His strides were careful, fluid, one directly in front of the other. His walking shoes were familiar, old friends.
He slipped his hand into his pocket and briefly held out his ticket stub for the conductor.
“Ticket,” said the conductor.
“Ticket,” he said.
Upon boarding, he realized the train’s interior was a replica of the ticket booth’s.

The red faux leather seats shamefacedly sported tears.

He fell upon one of the chairs and decided he felt comfortable in a place as forlorn as himself.

His car was nearly empty save for Viajera. She read the newspaper up close to her face while she peered at it. The hermes headscarf that encircled her skull seemed more for protection than for warmth. She wore two different shoes, the right was brand new, but the left was worn. The only thing beside her was a small satchel, filled by oranges and a can of beans.

He stared at the wall for some time.

The train screamed to a stop. He knew he should get off, so he carelessly slipped into unconsciousness.

The old woman elbowed him from her place, now beside him.

“Why are- , how did- ?” he questioned.

“Eat,” she said.

He looked at his hands as they took two oranges from hers.

She smiled, she was missing her two front teeth.

“You eat you keep your strong, this train go in circles, don’t know when you get off, you must keep your strong. Keep your strong,” she said knowingly and carelessly.