The husk of a deserted building stands behind me as I await the train. A canopy tilts in overhead. Its teeth-like edge reminds of an old football ground, of a small stand with a long uncovered ‘terrace’ further on. The platform stretches away from me, towards the last stop. This is my stop. The start of my journey home. It sits in the shadows of modern bridge and the dust of demolition. Windows and doors are boarded up, excluding, shutting out. The ticket offices are long gone. With them the staff. With them the soul. Passengers wait in the quiet desolation of wilderness where laws go unsupported and an electronic voice sings to us laments of times and departures.
Image copyright Malek Montag
malekmontag 
I love this particular line ” Passengers wait in the quiet desolation of wilderness where laws go unsupported and an electronic voice sings to us laments of times and departures.” Beautiful, poignant, good work
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