Trains

The Lunatic Express they called it. East Africas long iron snake. The waiters offered drinks on silver trays. You could wash your socks in the sink. The curious wildlife sauntered past the windows. The sounds and smells drifted in. It rattled and creaked. Wallowing. Mesmeric. Soporific.  Sometimes it would stop for no apparent reason. It was not convenient. It was sometimes dangerous. It was time stretched and malleable. Like an accordion. Breathing music. Life. Delight.

It’s gone now.

Replaced by convenience.

Efficient. Quick.

Soulless?

I can still hear it breathing.