Descriptions of Busy, Idle, and Abandoned Train Stations

Trains don't stop at this station anymore. Instead they hurtle through, full of workers and school children and people getting from A to B, all who have forgotten this place was even here.

The stale smell of cigarette smoke and pollution lingers in the air, as if it's frozen in time. A single lamp casts an ominous glow upon the dusty floor of this underground station, illuminating old bottles and cans, that were tossed to the side, forgotten and never cleaned up.

Times like these, in the dead of night, the train station is silent, like all the noise has been taken from the world. This is a place that sends shivers up your spine.

The stale smell of cigarette smoke and pollution is a blanket that lingers in the air. Cans and bottles lay tossed to the side, forgotten about, cleaned up later. Graffiti is everywhere. Tags and names in scrawly writing, overlapping each other, covering the walls of this station like wallpaper in something that could be described as art, if you look at it a certain way.

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A throng of people walk hurriedly around, the hustle and bustle of their indistinct conversation fills the air. There are people yelling, vendors trying to sell you the paper or their new $2 breakfast burrito. The smell of coffee and cooking meat wafts around, making your empty stomach churn like a washing machine. Everything moves so fast, people never stop.

The noise is pierced by the shrill whistle of the train approaching.

The tracks vibrate and there is a gentle wind, growing stronger and louder as the train comes nearer. The train comes into sight and the brakes screech as it slows down and stops. The doors open and old passengers make way for new passengers, who pile on. The train starts up again, with a smooth rhythmic sound, ready to carry its passengers to where they need to go.

At night, however, the train station looks quite different, after everyone has gone, on their way home. The blanket of pollution still lingers in the air, frozen in time. A lamp casts an ominous glow across the dusty floor, illuminating old bottles and cans still lie, tossed to the side and forgotten about, never cleaned up.

Graffiti still covers the walls like wallpaper. All the people are gone, but their noise and commotion still hang in the air, if you listen closely. At times like these, the train station waits sleepily for the shrill whistle of the train to pierce the air, for the hustle and bustle of the people to gradually come back again. The train will come back, with its rhythmic noise, and it will carry the people away, maybe to start their routine, or maybe to begin their next adventure.

Above all this though, is a small boy who sits cross-legged on the carpet, looking down on the train station, and clutching the train with his small, clammy hands. "Chug-a-chug-a-chug," he mutters under his breath.

"Choo Choo!" he squeals as he moves the train along the plastic tracks that cover the floor of his bedroom

"Chug-a-chug-a-chug," he says softly, as his imagination takes the train to its next destination.

Everyone is in their own bubble. Checking their phones, reading the paper, eating their breakfast, talking excitedly to their friends. Workers, school children, people with a need to get from A to B. All brought together at this station by only their desire to get to their destination.