The rooftops outside the window and the roadside trees began to recede; the train finally pulled out, slowly. Ten minutes late. A woman with a standing ticket sat in the seat of some passenger whose plans had probably changed, and grumbled for ten minutes. Apart from her, the voices in the carriage died down, leaving only the rustling of small movements.
Before the carriage quieted, there had been some commotion.
A young girl dragged a suitcase with her left hand and pinched her ticket in her right, her eyes switching between the seats and the ticket, checking again and again. A man with slicked-back hair quickly stood up, explaining that he was only sitting there until the seat’s owner arrived. Then he helped the slim girl lift her heavy suitcase onto the luggage rack in one motion. It all happened so fast that the girl stood there blankly for a moment before coming to herself and thanking him in a thin voice.
Hardly had it ended when a tall, thin young man came in pulling a black aluminum suitcase. After glancing around the carriage, he lifted it toward the rack. The case was big and heavy; halfway up, it slid back down, startling the people around. Hands reached out from all sides to catch it. The case was caught, but it still clipped the woman with the standing ticket. She rubbed her scraped arm and muttered a couple of complaints, but seeing the young man bowing and apologizing again and again, her brow loosened; she waved a hand and smiled.
Everything came fast and left fast. After the scare, the middle-aged men went back to laughing loudly, and the young people went back to their phones.
Geese pass and leave a trace; it was as if nothing had happened.
The train moved on, and time began to measure the shortening road home. The lights along the carriage roof lit the luggage on both sides, a glittering jumble, as if loaded with the hopes of distant places.
And so the journey home officially began.
Train T152 is running toward the roundest moon.