Warm wind danced his hair around his face. Jack looked out the train window as the Number Four rolled, brushed to a stop. The April sun hinted at heat to come in May and squinting he saw it dangling over the trees, now all bursting early green. There were seven hills in St. Stanislaw that rounded the town as buildings rolled and bumped against the ground in a crazy lolling game. Crazy town, thought Jack, and when the train came to a stop, he got off.
Jack was the only passenger who stepped off the train, and the ticket man hung from the car and checked his pocket watch, then made a nod to the engineer looking back a few cars up. The train whistle blew and the engine began to chug again and started rolling off and away. Jack, his rucksack slung over his back, watched it move and slowly wind around the river’s edge. When it finally disappeared around a bend, Jack stepped across the platform and instead of walking through the wooden, deserted station, he hiked around the platform’s edge and jumped to the ground, about three feet down.
Behind the platform, the town seemed asleep, even though it was midmorning. Jack didn’t see a soul around.