Whistlestop

Whistlestop There used to be a train station here it was busy and many came from the village to see who was leaving or arriving that was ok; it is nice to wave goodbye or welcoming a relative that has been away too long and might have picked up big city manners. Then the ghost of privatization came, and the line was closed, but there is a bus arriving twice a day, but lack romance bus travel is so common everybody facing one way and no stretching and pacing in the hall. The train station was sold off as a dwelling and the terminal a garden where, as we speak, a tourist was told to leave he was pacing waiting for the last train to take him home and to the airport; he had waited for twenty years. Not that the wife of the house minded, she was a good hearted woman, as long as he stood still he kept birds away and she didn`t have to take him in when it rained he had an umbrella and was happy when she bought him leftovers – she didn`t like dogs-. Then a twilight day it happened a train stopped the tourist boarded, a whistle-stop you might say, the train never came back.