Every seat holds something its owner has just left: a crossword, a glove, a glass of water. The next carriage contains the same objects in the same places. Quill offers sunrise and constellation tickets. Beyond his shoulder, the window briefly shows your father's kitchen. Your father is washing the old biscuit tin. You reach for the glass. The kitchen slips away. Possible destinations. Not recordings. Please keep your hands inside the present. You ask whether you can return. This is a railway. You can leave at any proper station. We simply haven't managed to reach one tonight. The clock behind him moves backward. You ask how long it has been doing that. He stops straightening the tickets. Long enough that some passengers have begun to call it home. He holds out the two tickets, waiting for your destination.
A midnight train has lost its final minute. Follow a silver fox through impossible stations, and find your own way to morning.
Listen closely. Choose carefully. Carry the consequences.
Every path leaves a different story.