I waited there for ever, I think. He got my letter, but he didn’t come. My train was long gone. I told him I was going to get on it and never come back and from then on, he would be the one to feed the cat and pay the bills and shit like that.
But he didn’t come.
God dammit.
she turned the corner and missed the train. it seems it too was laughing. that cold, terrifying, mirthless laughter of the sphinx, as if the universe was laughing at her the futility of the human condition.
the train station was empty. there was no one around this station, not a single soul. I stood outside all by myself waiting for someone, or something. Hoping maybe I had a way out of here. But, I don’t. And I know I never will. The train will never come to the station, and I’ll never be able to leave here.
The station was very crowded. I pushed my way through the crowd to the platform and gasped. Two kids had just ran through a brick wall! Another group of kids was standing, as if waiting in line, with huge trunks and cages.
Marcus had only a few moments to finish packing his bags and rushing to the station. The station. He had been to it many times before, but this time was different. It would be the last time he would leave the station, the last time he’d slip his ticket into the machine, the last time he’d see her shining face, her beautiful face. He had never had the guts to talk to her and as he took one last look around his now empyty flat he knew he never would. That damn station.
The rumble of the tracks was the first signal. After waiting for nearly half a day with no sign of a train, they would have noticed even the slightest shift in the breeze. Soon after the vibrations transferred from a subsonic shaking of the tracks into the trill of the whistle and metallic roar they had been waiting for. A blast of wind hit them as the huge mass of cars pushed it out of its way. It did not appear to be stopping. The station was long, the train was long, they hoped it had yet to slow down completely. But the noise did not stop, the wind did not stop, and the train, after deafening the lonely passengers, did not stop.
When I pulled up to the gas station, Jim made his way towards my car. I tried to ignore the smug look he gave me, but it was hard not to notice. Who cares that my father had to force me to pick up this ignorant snot rag? After today, I would be free. After today, they would all be gone.
Station…Train. Trains take you places you want to go and some you don’t. Sometimes I wish I could get out of here. Just pick up and leave, and not worry about things that trouble me on a daily basis. But that’s not what life is is it? Life is a mess of responsibility, but that makes it fulfilling too. They tell you not to think about the word at the top of the paper. So I wonder if I’m even making any sense with the line below almost running out…
I went to the station to see if I could remember the way things were when I first met you. The way you looked as the officer led you inside, your hands pulled behind your back and pinned together in his –
The way you were looking at the ground, so innocent, so humble so –
And then you looked up and your eyes were like wildfire, like you were ten souls trying to escape the hell that was your corporeal existence and then –
And then –
I remember where I am while the officers stare at me, and I leave, because I can’t stand that they took you away.
One of the bus stops on our route is Station Square, and though I don’t appreciate it often, it stumbles across my mind whenever I’m thinking about taking photographs, or when t neon, vintage signs come to mind.
I’ve only been to a station once in my life, I think. I don’t remember much of it, since it was so long ago. But it was the best! A unique experience; I recall sitting on small bunkbeds as I watched the scenery pass by.
we ran and we ran till the sweat dripped out our pours. tag your it! the melodies of our childhood, yet captured again. newlyweds. aboard to our new life. the train whistled on.
Trains. Rushing by. Fast, moving, accelerating. The whistle blows. It’s 8:30 a.m. and the train comes into the station at a screeching halt. Doors open. Pitter patter. Footsteps exit, footsteps enter. It’s fluid, rushed, excited. Grab a seat before you’re stuck standing. The train vanishes from the station in a blur. New passengers emerge onto the track. They wait. The clock ticks. One, two, three, five minutes until the next one. A man looks at his watch. He taps his toe. He’s late and his stress vibrates through his body. There’s nothing worse than that early morning commute, especially when you’re running behing schedule. A baby cries. His mother pushes his stroller in hushed movements until the baby is subdued. Five minutes pass. The whistle blows. The train comes in like the one before it, effortlessly. Doors open. Footsteps exit, footsteps enter. The motion continues on and on the entire day. The morning rush becomes the evening hustle. Train after train. The station is alive.
train. subway. the subway train. dark. dreary. quiet. cold. graffiti. in the dark of the dreary, quiet, cool subway station, I could hear just a small pluck of guitar strings. as i turned the corner, I saw an elderly man, with a guitar and case, playing an ominous song.
The other day we were at the station to the T and these guys told my friend she had sexy legs. Then they asked us where we were headed. Being from a sheltered town, we laughed then ran like hell out of there. We were naturally petrified of the three men hitting on us. It was rather memorable.
there was a train station where they met. a lonely rainy day where nothing good could possibly happen. but that day it was the start of something amazing. who knew it would be such an amazing vacation and life.
The darkness enveloped the station until I saw the light of the train far off in the distance. Soon I heard the rumbling of the track and felt the excitement within me grow. The smell of the vendors and the noise of the families eagerly, excitedly chatting filled my ears and nose.
I love the train station. I take it every day to school and back. I love seeing all the cold and tired new yorkers reading their papers , hiding their faces. I love the excitement i feel when the train screeches up to the platform. I love the little signs that say mind thte gap.
The train station was empty and desolate. There was no one there to comfort the poor lost soul that happened to stumble upon it at the wrong time. It was made of white marble and had empty billboards surrounding him. A ghastly sound of a train rattled in the distance.
A static stallion stakes its spot outside the station. The rider finds his steed still standing silently where he’d last seen him, and continues to sip his sarsaparilla inside the saloon.
I was waiting at the train station. At least, I was in my dreams. For some reason or other, every time I close my eyes and listen to “Charlie” or “Soul to Squeeze” or “Float” I see nothing else but trains. I don’t know why. Maybe I just want to get somewhere, to some uncharted destination where he’ll be waiting for me.
The bart station is right next to my house and everyday I hear it pass by. I wonder what the people think when they are travelling through the cities, the houses, the neighborhoods. I have been on there a few times, it makes me happy. I really like the scene and when the sun is shining I cannot believe how happy I feel. It is quite an incredible feeling.
i suppose he was content enough. maybe he didn’t even think about how he felt–why waste thoughts on that? jeopardy was on and he was at his station, the dinner plate resting oh his belly, the remote to his left, his answers always right.
I sat along the barren train station. I could not help but jump at very distant step or creak i heard. were they following me? i had no clue and i really did not want to find out. But one thing was for sure. i had to get out of here. the train came barreling through.
As he rolled into the station, I balked. I saw his face and ran faster than a cheetah after a zebra. No way could I deal with him again, the way that I thought for sure only hours before that I could.
I pulled up at the station where you once left me.
Teased me, Pulled me into you, Acted like you loved me,
Then left me hanging.
I pull up at the station where you left me.
And set my heart free.
Today I went to pick up my daughter from the station. She has been away for almost six months in Chicago earning her masters. When I finally saw her walking towards me she had a man on her arm, I think there is more than pictures to show me.
I pulled up at the station where you left me.
The same place where you made me cry.
Teased me, Pulled me into you, Acted like you loved me.
And left me hanging.
I pull up at the station where you left me.
And set my heart free.
wagon. train station. cool metal running beneath your hand in the dim light of early morning. reflections of that light off of the small pools of formed from the evening before.
I remember my first week in Melbourne. New home, new job, new state. It was the middle of Winter. Colder than i was used to. I stood on the station platform in the early hours of the morning, freezing and alone. I wouldn’t have changed anything. This was my adventure…
i went to a gas station that my grandpa use to own a long time ago that was on the boreder where the indians would come and traid jewelry and such for gas and goods. My grandpa loved that job it was a lot of fun and he met a lot of interesting people
The train station. It was beautiful, filled with the promise of something new, like going there meant I could go anywhere. Maybe it could take me away from this place and from this pain. And I didn’t know how to say it, but watching the people walking by, making their own journeys only made me more ready to make my own.
stations are a place were trains pick you up.
I waited there for ever, I think. He got my letter, but he didn’t come. My train was long gone. I told him I was going to get on it and never come back and from then on, he would be the one to feed the cat and pay the bills and shit like that.
But he didn’t come.
God dammit.
i am going to the station.i like the station . i love ridding to the station . i need to pike my brother from the station
she turned the corner and missed the train. it seems it too was laughing. that cold, terrifying, mirthless laughter of the sphinx, as if the universe was laughing at her the futility of the human condition.
the train station was empty. there was no one around this station, not a single soul. I stood outside all by myself waiting for someone, or something. Hoping maybe I had a way out of here. But, I don’t. And I know I never will. The train will never come to the station, and I’ll never be able to leave here.
The station was very crowded. I pushed my way through the crowd to the platform and gasped. Two kids had just ran through a brick wall! Another group of kids was standing, as if waiting in line, with huge trunks and cages.
The station felt like her mother’s basement. Memories of dark grey walls and the smell of rancid damp towels pervaded her every sense.
Marcus had only a few moments to finish packing his bags and rushing to the station. The station. He had been to it many times before, but this time was different. It would be the last time he would leave the station, the last time he’d slip his ticket into the machine, the last time he’d see her shining face, her beautiful face. He had never had the guts to talk to her and as he took one last look around his now empyty flat he knew he never would. That damn station.
The rumble of the tracks was the first signal. After waiting for nearly half a day with no sign of a train, they would have noticed even the slightest shift in the breeze. Soon after the vibrations transferred from a subsonic shaking of the tracks into the trill of the whistle and metallic roar they had been waiting for. A blast of wind hit them as the huge mass of cars pushed it out of its way. It did not appear to be stopping. The station was long, the train was long, they hoped it had yet to slow down completely. But the noise did not stop, the wind did not stop, and the train, after deafening the lonely passengers, did not stop.
When I pulled up to the gas station, Jim made his way towards my car. I tried to ignore the smug look he gave me, but it was hard not to notice. Who cares that my father had to force me to pick up this ignorant snot rag? After today, I would be free. After today, they would all be gone.
Station…Train. Trains take you places you want to go and some you don’t. Sometimes I wish I could get out of here. Just pick up and leave, and not worry about things that trouble me on a daily basis. But that’s not what life is is it? Life is a mess of responsibility, but that makes it fulfilling too. They tell you not to think about the word at the top of the paper. So I wonder if I’m even making any sense with the line below almost running out…
music
love
train
bus
fall
spring
state
character
point
all the time everything changes while we go through
I went to the station to see if I could remember the way things were when I first met you. The way you looked as the officer led you inside, your hands pulled behind your back and pinned together in his –
The way you were looking at the ground, so innocent, so humble so –
And then you looked up and your eyes were like wildfire, like you were ten souls trying to escape the hell that was your corporeal existence and then –
And then –
I remember where I am while the officers stare at me, and I leave, because I can’t stand that they took you away.
One of the bus stops on our route is Station Square, and though I don’t appreciate it often, it stumbles across my mind whenever I’m thinking about taking photographs, or when t neon, vintage signs come to mind.
I’ve only been to a station once in my life, I think. I don’t remember much of it, since it was so long ago. But it was the best! A unique experience; I recall sitting on small bunkbeds as I watched the scenery pass by.
we ran and we ran till the sweat dripped out our pours. tag your it! the melodies of our childhood, yet captured again. newlyweds. aboard to our new life. the train whistled on.
Trains. Rushing by. Fast, moving, accelerating. The whistle blows. It’s 8:30 a.m. and the train comes into the station at a screeching halt. Doors open. Pitter patter. Footsteps exit, footsteps enter. It’s fluid, rushed, excited. Grab a seat before you’re stuck standing. The train vanishes from the station in a blur. New passengers emerge onto the track. They wait. The clock ticks. One, two, three, five minutes until the next one. A man looks at his watch. He taps his toe. He’s late and his stress vibrates through his body. There’s nothing worse than that early morning commute, especially when you’re running behing schedule. A baby cries. His mother pushes his stroller in hushed movements until the baby is subdued. Five minutes pass. The whistle blows. The train comes in like the one before it, effortlessly. Doors open. Footsteps exit, footsteps enter. The motion continues on and on the entire day. The morning rush becomes the evening hustle. Train after train. The station is alive.
train. subway. the subway train. dark. dreary. quiet. cold. graffiti. in the dark of the dreary, quiet, cool subway station, I could hear just a small pluck of guitar strings. as i turned the corner, I saw an elderly man, with a guitar and case, playing an ominous song.
The other day we were at the station to the T and these guys told my friend she had sexy legs. Then they asked us where we were headed. Being from a sheltered town, we laughed then ran like hell out of there. We were naturally petrified of the three men hitting on us. It was rather memorable.
there was a train station where they met. a lonely rainy day where nothing good could possibly happen. but that day it was the start of something amazing. who knew it would be such an amazing vacation and life.
The darkness enveloped the station until I saw the light of the train far off in the distance. Soon I heard the rumbling of the track and felt the excitement within me grow. The smell of the vendors and the noise of the families eagerly, excitedly chatting filled my ears and nose.
we stand alone in the blustery aftermath of the flutter-by train.
it could be were a train , a bus or car.
I love the train station. I take it every day to school and back. I love seeing all the cold and tired new yorkers reading their papers , hiding their faces. I love the excitement i feel when the train screeches up to the platform. I love the little signs that say mind thte gap.
The train station was empty and desolate. There was no one there to comfort the poor lost soul that happened to stumble upon it at the wrong time. It was made of white marble and had empty billboards surrounding him. A ghastly sound of a train rattled in the distance.
A static stallion stakes its spot outside the station. The rider finds his steed still standing silently where he’d last seen him, and continues to sip his sarsaparilla inside the saloon.
I was waiting at the train station. At least, I was in my dreams. For some reason or other, every time I close my eyes and listen to “Charlie” or “Soul to Squeeze” or “Float” I see nothing else but trains. I don’t know why. Maybe I just want to get somewhere, to some uncharted destination where he’ll be waiting for me.
The bart station is right next to my house and everyday I hear it pass by. I wonder what the people think when they are travelling through the cities, the houses, the neighborhoods. I have been on there a few times, it makes me happy. I really like the scene and when the sun is shining I cannot believe how happy I feel. It is quite an incredible feeling.
i suppose he was content enough. maybe he didn’t even think about how he felt–why waste thoughts on that? jeopardy was on and he was at his station, the dinner plate resting oh his belly, the remote to his left, his answers always right.
I sat along the barren train station. I could not help but jump at very distant step or creak i heard. were they following me? i had no clue and i really did not want to find out. But one thing was for sure. i had to get out of here. the train came barreling through.
As he rolled into the station, I balked. I saw his face and ran faster than a cheetah after a zebra. No way could I deal with him again, the way that I thought for sure only hours before that I could.
I pulled up at the station where you once left me.
Teased me, Pulled me into you, Acted like you loved me,
Then left me hanging.
I pull up at the station where you left me.
And set my heart free.
Today I went to pick up my daughter from the station. She has been away for almost six months in Chicago earning her masters. When I finally saw her walking towards me she had a man on her arm, I think there is more than pictures to show me.
Here they were. Ready to say goodbye all the while knowing it was only so long for now…
I pulled up at the station where you left me.
The same place where you made me cry.
Teased me, Pulled me into you, Acted like you loved me.
And left me hanging.
I pull up at the station where you left me.
And set my heart free.
Get this order to station 16!
What if I don’t?
You’re fired.
What?
No, you’re really fired for asking.
wagon. train station. cool metal running beneath your hand in the dim light of early morning. reflections of that light off of the small pools of formed from the evening before.
I remember my first week in Melbourne. New home, new job, new state. It was the middle of Winter. Colder than i was used to. I stood on the station platform in the early hours of the morning, freezing and alone. I wouldn’t have changed anything. This was my adventure…
i went to a gas station that my grandpa use to own a long time ago that was on the boreder where the indians would come and traid jewelry and such for gas and goods. My grandpa loved that job it was a lot of fun and he met a lot of interesting people
The train station. It was beautiful, filled with the promise of something new, like going there meant I could go anywhere. Maybe it could take me away from this place and from this pain. And I didn’t know how to say it, but watching the people walking by, making their own journeys only made me more ready to make my own.