terminus

the end of the line. the rails stop in a red-painted buffer and a low concrete kerb and nothing beyond. the platform is longer than it ever needs to be. it was built for the trains that used to terminate here in summer, hundreds at a time; now one train sleeps here every night and the rest go back the way they came.

the town beyond is the largest on the line and the only one with a streetlight that stays on past one. there is a hotel called the railway hotel, with a bar that closes when the last train arrives and opens with the first. the rooms above are named after the other stops; you can ask for marin or chalfen or silvergrove and sleep in your destination.

the stationmaster is a woman who has been here thirty-one years and is older than the buffer. she keeps the great clock to the second and pretends not to. on the last train, she walks the length of the platform with a lamp, looking for nothing in particular.

field note: the platform is silent for almost seven hours between the last traveller and the first. the lamps stay lit. the clock keeps its count.