End of Day. Trains pull in. Crowds collide. Accents, languages, gods mix in bustlenjostle. A push, a helping hand, a shove pull bodies in. Standing, sitting, leaning, they wait, hope, dream, plan for next station, for tonight, for tomorrow, for next year. A fuse ignites. A rip tears today apart. 183 hopes, dreams, plans disappear.
6 comments:
190 now.
How utterly evil an act to commit.
M.L.
I've benn worried about Pan and TPF. Has anyone heard from them?
Horrible, horrible, horrible.
[Not your writing of course]
speechless with indignant fury!!
I can't even begin to imagine....
best regards, nice info
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