The platform hums with quiet anticipation, the distant rumble of an approaching train breaking the stillness. A lone streetlamp flickers, casting a dim glow on the damp concrete. The air smells of rusted metal, old newspapers, and the faint trace of spilled coffee. A few passengers linger in silence, their faces half-hidden beneath scarves and heavy coats.
The rails tremble as the train nears, headlights cutting through the darkness like distant stars. Graffiti-covered walls blur in the background, colors muted beneath the soft haze of city lights. A gust of wind rushes through the station, rattling loose posters and sending a paper cup rolling across the floor.
Doors slide open with a mechanical hiss, revealing the warm glow of the cabin’s interior. Empty seats line the aisle, worn fabric faded by time and countless travelers. A muffled announcement crackles over the speakers, barely audible above the steady hum of the engine. Footsteps echo as someone steps aboard, their presence brief, unnoticed.
As the train pulls away, its wheels clatter against the tracks in rhythmic certainty. Reflections dance on the windows, blending city lights with passing shadows. The station grows smaller, swallowed by the night, until only the sound of fading steel lingers—a whisper of movement in a city that never truly sleeps.
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