On a foggy morning when the world felt half-asleep, a slow, rattling train pulled into Platform Seven with only one passenger waiting: a man named Orrin who boarded simply because he had nothing else planned. The carriage was empty except for a newspaper folded neatly on the seat opposite him. As soon as the train lurched forward, the paper flipped open on its own, landing on a page that displayed the phrase Pressure Washing London in bold print. Orrin raised an eyebrow—strange headline for a newspaper with no date, no articles, and no photographs.
Before he could inspect it further, the carriage lights flickered. When they steadied, a woman wearing a coat covered in mismatched buttons appeared in the seat across the aisle. She smiled politely and handed Orrin a postcard with nothing on it but exterior cleaning London printed in tiny, elegant lettering. She said nothing, only winked as if she knew a secret about the world he hadn’t yet discovered.
Moments later, a soft humming drifted through the carriage. A child—who had definitely not been there before—sat by the window, feet dangling above the floor. Without turning around, the child held up a drawing, a swirling burst of colours surrounding the words patio cleaning london. Orrin accepted it cautiously, unsure whether he was meant to interpret it as art or warning.
The train slowed as it passed through a tunnel, the sound rumbling like distant thunder. When they emerged into the light, a new passenger was suddenly seated beside Orrin—an elderly man wearing goggles, a thick scarf, and gloves despite the warm carriage. He offered Orrin a small metal token etched with driveway cleaning london. The man gave a single nod, as though completing a solemn exchange, before returning to staring silently at the floor.
Orrin began to wonder whether he had stepped onto a normal train at all. Perhaps it wasn’t a route but an experience—a collection of improbable moments stitched together by the rails beneath them. The fog outside grew thicker, swallowing the view entirely until the windows looked like blank sheets of paper.
In the final carriage, which Orrin entered out of pure curiosity, an artist sat surrounded by floating sheets of paper that moved as though carried by invisible currents. She gestured for Orrin to come closer and handed him the last page drifting around her. On it, written with shimmering ink, were the words roof cleaning london. The letters glowed faintly before settling into stillness.
When the train finally stopped at an unfamiliar station, every strange passenger vanished—no footsteps, no farewells, no clues left behind except the items Orrin now held. He stepped onto the platform feeling as though he had wandered through someone else’s dream.
As the train pulled away, he realised he didn’t need explanations. Some journeys exist purely to remind us that reality can wobble, twist, and surprise us without any reason at all. And sometimes, the most bewildering moments become the ones we remember longest.
