I never understood why Martin loved taking the train. I preferred to ride in cars so I could stop whenever I wanted and could stretch my legs with a walk when I started to get restless. I managed to get very restless these days and I have yet to figure out why. Martin had insisted on this particular train ride and had even booked one of the sleeping cabins. I was a little uneasy about sleeping on the train because I slept best in peace and quiet. I highly doubted the clacking of the train would either be peaceful or quiet. I had already heard a young mother soothing her newborn and had wonder about her story. Why was she on the train with such a young child? Was she running from someone or something?
As the minutes and hours clacked on, I started to study the other passengers as they walked by our compartment. When no one stopped to talk with us, I began to make up stories for each person complete with names, families and a background. After a while, a complicated story between each passenger began to take shape. After I had written everything down that I could, there were eight napkins full of names and history. I might have to start taking the train more often. Martin had become bored with my stories and glumly stared out the window. I shockingly wasn’t feeling bad about neglecting him, but maybe I was bored with him too.