Despite the cold, there’s a surprising number of people on the Sunday morning 9:58 to Frankston.
Two uniformed sailors heading perhaps to the naval base at Crib Point after a night out (this train connects with the Stony Point train);
a lady who insists on standing all the way to McKinnon, papers in her hand, perhaps revision notes, she reads them intently;
a middle-aged couple, he with an iPod, her with a book, to occupy them;
a man with a cold and a big bottle of orange juice;
a girl in a plaid warm woollen coat and dyed red hair;
and me, among others.
4 replies on “Sunday morning 9:58”
The sailors were probably strippers in costume.
The standing lady was possibly on stilts.
The middle-aged couple were probably really young with prosthetics. The book was the dictionary.
Orange juice? Sounds like a euphemism for seriously concentrated urine.
Dyed red hair? Probably a very complex hat.
You’re weird Reuben!
What can I say, Daniel? It’s inevitable. I guess I could have launched into my belief that reading Sherlock Holmes enables one to deduce the nature of somebody on, say, public transport – but that might be a bit too conventional.
I always see the timetable for the Stony Point train at Flinders Street. Must get my lazy bottom out of Briar Hill and head down there one weekend. It’s a diesel service ain’t it?