Sat on the warmed holy gunmetal coloured bench, the sun casts a heavy calming warmth from ahead of you. When you close your eyes your eyelids glow a warm honey yellow. The same colour as the cautionary line which you know from childhood, which stands above the softened tarmac base, the sun exposing its scent.
The hot breeze blows to your left where the tracks run and hide around a corner of trees. You’re expecting to see motion at any moment as if somethings telling you there will be.
More passengers are approaching the wait, ascending the slight ramp just behind your right shoulder which is flanked by a traditional tall fence, varnished in a dark walnut brown, with gaps between the boards that blink at you as you pass.
Sat there, you are aware that what you are waiting for will approach from your right. But why is that ever approaching motion from the left so consuming? That is not for you? If it was, you would be sat waiting on the other side, with the sun hitting your back. The corner wouldn’t be visible and the tracks would appear much shorter. A replica of the bench you’re sat on sits empty almost directly opposite you, just a tad to the right...that bench is probably just as warm.