A Post About Nothing...

journey of memory

He watched as the train from Haenertsberg edged into the tiny station. It was mid-March, and the change of season was apparent. A gust of wind managed to unravel some of the tarpaulin that covered the luggage rack. The sign for Platform 25 creaked ominously above the man's head.

A stranger approached him: "Mr. Van Oppenburg, your car has arrived, Sir."

Van Oppenburg felt the now familiar mixture of confusion and anxiety. His eyes searched the luggage at his feet for the tag that confirmed his identity.