The Train Station It is here that all begins and ends. Everyone comes and goes from the platform on which brown wooden barrels stand, waiting to be loaded into the brick colored freight car with the broken wheel. It seems such a shame that no one lives inside the station. Try as I might to catch a glimpse of the man in the dark work trousers and the blue shirt and maroon suspenders walking back and forth from the ticket window to the waiting room, I can never quite find him. I know he’s in there. Where he goes at night is anyone’s guess.