Station

I

"Morning"

The word sounded dry, tired. Darren looked up at the stranger, a small smile on his lips. He nodded in acknowledgement. People didn't usually talk to him.

The man wasn't looking at him though; it seemed like he was talking to himself, rather than Darren. Darren looked him up and down as the mister sat down on the bench next to him. The stranger's clothes were nice; his button-down shirt white as snow with a purple tie dividing it in halves, his coal grey suit ironed flat and his shoes polished with wax.
In short, a person not fit for Darren to even sit next to.

Darren's eyes fell back down to his lap. The clock at the station kept ticking away, the only sound echoing through the station halls. It was quiet again, neither of them spoke.

Curiously, he peeked over to the stranger again. Mr bog standard threw frantic looks to his wrist watch and the station's clock alternately.
A new job, probably, Darren concluded. He pitied the man.

The loud gong that resounded in the station hall, announcing the 0455 train's arrival, evoked a sigh of relief from Mr bog standard. The train was almost two minutes late. Darren smiled at him, but the man didn't throw him another look. He was already standing at the white line that marked the distance one needed to keep from the edge. His foot was anxiously tapping against the pavement while the train slowly arrived in the station.

The train halted. The doors opened. Mr bog standard entered quickly. After a few seconds, the doors closed once more. Darren was still sitting on the ground, cross-legged. His back was leaned against a brick pillar. He watched as the train left the station. A cold wind blew past him. Darren pulled his perforated blanket closer around himself habitually, even though he didn't quite feel the chill.

Minutes went by.

More people entered the station. A short woman walked up to the bench next to Darren with a fast but strong stride. She sat down with one leg folded over the other.

Darren watched her silently. Her shiny red hair was mechanically curled and almost reached her waist in length. Her pencil skirt was a deep burgundy, the black tights she wore beneath it had floral stitching, only visible up close. The olive green bomber jacket she was wearing puffed out from beneath her arm pits, apparently too big for her small frame.

Her head turned towards Darren' general direction, but she wasn't looking at him. Disgust spread on her face like a virus. Darren looked around himself for a moment, spotting an ill looking dog in a corner, licking a patch of raw skin on its leg. He turned back towards the lady. Her gaze was spiteful, as if the dog's existence alone made her sick. Darren threw her the friendliest smile he could manage with his crooked mouth and foul teeth, but Ms curling iron didn't return it.

Darren didn't attempt to start a conversation. Most people didn't want to talk and it wasn't in his interest to annoy anyone deliberately.

A loud gong. The 0530 train entered the station. Darren watched people head over to the tracks, ready to board.

The lady stayed in her seat, currently absorbed by her flip-phone with her headphones on. Upon closer look, Darren could see one of those fancy Walkman that had a small window so that one could see the cassette inside. He wasn't sure if this was the train she had been waiting for, but he didn't want to disturb her, so he didn't say anything.

His eyes tore away from Ms curling iron, now focused on the people entering the train.

He was sure he had seen some of the outfits before, but ultimately couldn't recognise the faces. It was almost like none of them even had a face with how strange the people seemed to Darren.

Faceless people boarded the train, a mass of people hustling and pushing like a shoal of fish. Darren almost couldn't believe that the station had been empty just an hour ago.

The train left the station. It was an old train, so Darren was careful not to inhale too much of the smoke it produced. His eyes trailed after it as it rolled off into the distance. The station was now fairly empty again. He let out a deep breath, as if he had been nervous for something that, in the end, didn't happen.

His eyes searched for Ms curling iron again. She was now standing up, her discontent glare directed at the station's clock. Darren also looked at it, following her gaze. According to the clock, it was 11:47. But the clock was broken, had been broken since Darren could think, even when he could still hear its steady ticking in his mind.

Ms curling iron began walking around the station impatiently, as if her train would come any sooner because of her pacing. Darren watched her, saw her jacket swing with her movements, heard her red pumps click against the cracked pavement.

Darren closed his eyes, the sound of the pumps and the clock in his mind being the only sounds until the clouds above the station broke open. Quickly, drops began hammering against the wooden roof of the station.

The station was old, and a few holes had formed in the roof. The calming sound of rain dripping down from the wood into quickly forming puddles in the uneven pavement easily relaxed Darren as his head sunk against the brick pillar once more.

Another gong; the 0545 train arrived.