Small Stone – On Track

More haste, less time. A needless run for a train waiting on a platform and I was an hour late for the warehouse. The train sped on towards London, I got off at Sole Street. Rain coated, small and deserted, but for a friendly ticket clerk. She saw me and knew why I had come to her station so early. I sat in the warm waiting for a connection back. A coffee purchased through a dark country lane helped my mobile breakfast go down. In the ticket hall I looked at the posters and pictures commemorating the old stop. Pictures of an age long before my time. And I looked at the new regime. The grey, both light and dark,covering every surface. Masking the building’s character. Smothering the prints of a million fingers on wood and brass and glass. Sterile modernity washing away a time of spontaneity. Gone are the old scents and colours and odours of travel and adventure. The five past seven rolled in, and took me back to my own personal reality.

The soul of Sole Street… Image from:


About malekmontag

I am a writer and a wage-slave, and proud father of George Giraffe. I live in the UK, but I exist everywhere. My first stories were published this year (2016) in Short Stories and Tall Tales (Atla Publishing). Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15. My Work is also available on
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One Response to Small Stone – On Track

  1. SM Jenkin says:

    Sad how the unique nature of each place is just smothered for the sake of convenience. I like the thought of a “mobile breakfast”


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