The Distant Journey
The locomotive did not chug so much as it exhaled, a long, rhythmic sigh of steam and coal dust that seemed to synchronize with the beating of my own heart, which had long since forgotten how to rest. I sat in the second-class carriage, the wood of the seat worn smooth by decades of anxious hands, and I watched the passing landscape blur into a smear of grey and green, a visual static that...
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