Grey gardens limited

The unforgiving freight-train pounding pistons and levers working weight to wheels on burnished sheen of steel rails bullets past the deserted station platform. I stand back in the wake of its irresistible come-hither suck of the siren's song. Breathless. I shake some in the cellular vibrations fear-soaked with fright hormones as they give way to a strange euphoria and the humming silence that falls somewhere just below sound. And the pristine snow compressed beneath my feet. Is cold a feeling, or merely an absence? In any case, I'd invalidated my ticket by getting off at the wrong stop and found myself stuck between nowheres without an immediate plan, except for keep moving. Zero bars, yet the obligatory screen alert of "emergency calls only" belied the prefixed promise of "mobile" to "phone". Even amidst the all-pervasive network of social infrastructure it's surprisingly easily to fall off the grid. I scoured the frost-framed schedules for pick-up stops amongst the off-season services. Luck, but not within the next five hours. Light fading fast on visible distance between steps.