The train emerges from the fog. In the distance, a large castle, over a forest. I’ve never noticed that before. The train enters a tunnel.
The train emerges from the tunnel onto a bridge, high over endless plains. A dragon flies past, a princess on its back. Is this a new route?
The train approaches the foot of an immense mountain. On a field, a horse grazes next to a burned-out suit of armour. The tea trolley comes.
The train slows to a halt. The conductor apologises: a goblin migration crossing the line. Outrageous, I say. He gives me a biscuit voucher.
The train starts moving again, climbing. Soon, we enter clouds. Unseen animals sing mournfully, deeply. Airwhales, says the lady next to me.
The train emerges from the clou… the fog, and pulls in at my station. I gather my things to get off. Where did I get a biscuit voucher?
I have a vague feeling I ought to be going to work, not home. Silly. Though I can’t recall what I did after boarding the train this morning.
These tweets were posted over the span of a working day, the first as I got on my train to work, the last as I got off the train coming home.