The platform at the old station building; site of umpteen birthday party departures. Something like this was unique, and delightful; surreal-fantastic. A time gem. But it was not global-branded, wrapped in an airconditioned mall. Designer shoes would have lost sheen to dust, and the only thing people could take home was the unvarnished perfection of the sound the train made going over the bridges, looking down into the water, and the pull, tug, jerk of the carriages swaying to the engine's music with some soot in your eyes. |