The Carpark at the Railway Station

Mr B won’t let me get out of the van to check it out in detail. 

Trees.  I can see trees.

Trains screech a bit when they are stopping and whine when they get moving again.  People appear trudging down that ramp thing.  They don’t look terrifically cheerful.  Maybe riding  in trains makes them feel a bit sick.

When F appears she is always carrying a big bag and it goes in the back of the van.  I know the routine: bag in the back, open the passenger side door.  I planned it carefully, timed it, made a dash.  F is quicker than I gave her credit for.  She can catch a rocket cat in one hand!

Now mr B always pins me down before the door opens.  Such disrespect.  The carpark at the railway station remains largely an unexplored mystery.