John Davenport

Le Train

Ka-dit-ka-dit Ka-dit-ka-dit Ka-dit-ka-dit Through the fog, the rapid staccato of steel on steel penetrated his unconsciousness. He was becoming aware of movement beneath him, a scratchy fabric- Mohair perhaps? – against his cheek. He stirred, realizing he was someplace unfamiliar, as the sound of a train whistle shrieked. His body ached all over.