There’s a lot to be said of the City. You’ve always something to entertain you, and there’s always somewhere to be- how could you possibly ever get bored- the lights, the sounds and the people. Who could ask for more?

And then, you get on The Slow Train, buy a ticket to the end of the line, and sit in contemplation as forty year old rolling stock rumbles along track held together with little more than a welding gun and a prayer. The City begins to fall away, and you notice your fellow passenger begin to change. Suits begin to become more scarce as the train rumbles further away from the blinding mass of light, and the drinks cart goes away, left rear wheel squealing in protest. Trees begin to appear from the sides of the tracks. Where thirty minutes ago you were watching Battersea Power Station, you begin to see new things, bushes, greenery, hedgerow. The further south you travel of the the City, the darker it gets; not because it’s getting later, but because of the lack of street lights and offices flooding your vision with bright white electric sunlight. The sky bruises, but as your eyes adjust, you see a faint trail of colour cross it, milky, almost ethereal. The sound of cars and people jabbering on mobile phones dies out. Soon, all thats left is the sound of the wheels on the track, the odd clunk, and your own breathing.

The carriage is empty. You’re on your own.

But that’s not new, is it? You’ve been on your own before. Stuck in traffic, just you and the air conditioning. Yeah, on your own, you and the other few thousand poor saps on the South Circular, looking for Junction 7. Now you’re really alone. Maybe the guard in the guard’s van, and the driver six coaches ahead of you, but thats it. You’re barely a half hour away from civilization, and you feel like the entire world has packed up and left. Were it not for the fact you were quite patently in Carriage 76895 on the 21,17 to Lord Only Knows Where, on a set of half rotten rails, you wouldn’t have a hard time believing it, either.

And then, enlightenment. You’ve suddenly remembered the last time you were this far away from the city- you were eight, no more. Dad took you to see your aunt, his sister.

The house smelt of lavender, and you remember playing in the garden with your cousins and the water hose on the back wall. Late summer evening, and no cares in the world. Days were long and beautiful, the sun shone and the crickets chirruped in the trees long into the dusk. Day was a fun time, where you’d wake as soon as the sun came up, ready to go play and explore, to find burred treasure in the sand dunes, or secret caves by the sea front in the summer holidays in Dorset.

And you begin to wonder, why are you still living in the city? What happened to that little kid inside of you? Did you really grow up that fast, and loose so much? Questions stream in and out of your head, and you can’t find any answers, for better or for worse. But really, do you want answers? Aren’t they what got you where you are now? Too many questions, too many answers, and too much to think about.

The mobile in your pocket bleeps at you. You’ve lost signal. Not even “Emergency Calls Only” shows up, just a simple “No Network.” The train protests as it tries to stop at the station a few hundred yards down the track, and you’ve reached the end of the line.

“Attention all passengers, this is the last stop. All change please, all change. Enjoy your evening.”

It’s gotten dark out. No street lights, little to no housing, just a light on in the station. You talk to the station master, and find out the time for the last train back to London. 23,17. You’ve got what, about three quarters of an hour to kill. And nothing to do, no where to go. You pull the collar of the jacket up around you, and the cigarette packet finds itself in your hand, and you light up, the cool air around you contrasting with the hot smoke filling your lungs. Why not go back to Dorset, you think? But what about your apparment, your job, your friends, what about them? You’d have to leave them all behind, and how could you cope with that? What would they think when you don’t turn up tomorrow morning for work? More to the point, what will they think when you track light yellow sand into the datacentre later that afternoon when you get back from your little jaunt?

The questions got you into the City in the first place. Time to stop asking questions.