The Wanderer

There is no feeling close to that of sitting on a train, as if you were a wanderer on the tracks with anywhere to go.  Time is no problem; a wanderer worries not about time, rather thinks only of the journey.  The Wanderer always holds on to his journey, clutches it, sips it and enjoys for as long as he can.  As if it were a beer,  the journey gets flatter and flatter as the destination approaches.  So, to prolong the journey, the Wanderer will find or make distractions for himself until finally he realizes he must take his last sip, and finally the destination is reached.

That last sip, though it could have been great, was flat, bitter, and warm, for the delay made it so.  The destination does not seem as it should be, not glorious nor full of wonders; it does not meet the Wanderer's expectation.  So again the wanderer embarks on another journey.

p.s.  Admittedly this story was not by any means typical and ended up being quite short, but this is my first post.  This is my icebreaker, for I have never written for an audience before, only myself.  Form now on Thursday nights will be when I post short stories that are more typical, and Friday nights will carry on the tradition of extremely brief, candid, spontaneous stories like the one above, unplanned and off the cuff.