D.J.L

"Where's My Ticket, Anthony?"

It wasn’t the piercing shriek of the steam whistle that woke Anthony. It was the icy grip on his shoulder that roused him from a dreamless slumber. The man towering over him was wearing a wool uniform; its tarnished buttons polished to an impeccable shine. His conductor’s cap was pulled low over his brow, casting a shadow which obscured his face. However, even with his features concealed, Anthony could feel the conductor’s eyes upon him.