Warwick Parkway Station

All around me are lines, converging. Floor tiles; paving stones; railings; the brickwork design of the protective grid pulled down around the coffee bar; the girders supporting the glass roof.

A rattle of coins; beep beep, clatter of change. The whirr of a drink spouting into a paper cup. Food clunks into the vending machine tray. Footsteps pace by, and a draught of cold air strokes my arm as the doors hush open. Quiet; broken by a throat clearing and the roar of a car engine; machine-gun rattle of tickets being printed.