It doesn't matter what the schedule says, it doesn't even matter if you can see another train down the line. You have secret knowledge that the train pulling up is your train, the only train, the last train ever.
They (the cosmic "they") even stopped all trains; dumping out barrels of cheese-colored paint for the hand rails, and destroying that small German company that makes the brake cables. All to guarantee that no train will ever stop here again.
And you are certain there is a small army of leathery rail workers with striped hats waiting with picks and dynamite to tear up track and timber behind this train.
These must be the reasons why you fillpack and shove your way rudely at 5:22PM on this obscure September Tuesday.
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