it was a quarter past 11 when the silhouette of the steam locomotive changed in its inertia, and i was left standing in dense smoke attempting to connect neurons to nerve impulses. my train was leaving and i was not aboard.
the sprinting algorithm of my prior steps had come to allude me and I am left pondering as to where these moments had gone. As overextension of one's arm defies the boiler pumping steam, it's thermal radiation forcing me to become The Contortionist.
with chills stepping up my spine, taking residue in each vertebra before ascending, crashing and descending, as contact with hand and train is made, and relaxation comes with it. i sense the gentle acceleration, as this safety net of relaxation fades. my weakening muscles struggle to become satanists of physics