The two o’clock train was late, leaving her to bake on the station bench a little longer. She turned her face to the sun and enjoyed the way the concrete radiated it up. The heat also chased away the crowds, sweating round-faced people who abandoned the platform for conditioned interiors.
Their chatter and crash had filled the empty spaces between the cackle of scavenging crows and the distant sound of the freeway. Now her thoughts rushed to fill the quiet.
She wasn’t running from anything. There were no scars to cover with the endless miles between this place and the letters on her train ticket. No mob chased her out, she wasn’t escaping from any twisted webs. Her departure wouldn’t matter, and that was precisely why it was time to leave.
Now, alone on the concrete platform, perched with her bag on a concrete bench, it didn’t feel like a good decision. It was just a decision.
The destination on her ticket was only those letters and number. It was a city. A place she’d picked only when prompted by the glassy-eyed attendant at the kiosk. She’d find out what she was running to when she got there.