Stations of the Anxious

My tourist's train to Saltport is delayed by about an hour or more, so I'm stuck at an unfamiliar station with all my luggage, long-suffering feet cramped uncomfortable formal shoes. I hadn't wanted to pack them in case they got crushed. Ditto this stiff dress shirt and suit jacket. I resemble a recently unemployed middle-management executive, a laid-off white collar worker who's cleared the contents of his desk into a faux leather valise and an old rucksack, then decided to leave all his clothes on the nearest beach and walk into the sea. At least I'm not wearing a tie. It's still damn hot even though it's already September.

Suddenly the tannoy system bursts into sound and a metallic voice announces 'The next train to Moorland arrives in fifteen minutes.' Moorland? Where's that? I wonder what it's like there? Places I've never heard of always project a certain glamor to my mind. Perhaps interesting people live there; the sort of people in whose company I could spend many happy evenings. Maybe there are wonderful shops stocked with all the things I've ever wanted, and fantastic restaurants serving my favorite drinks and dishes at bargain prices. And, who knows, even that very French but welcoming cafe with alfresco seating I've dreamt about all my life. Existing infrastructure permitting, Moorland could bring out the social butterfly in me, replacing this fossilized caterpillar I've become, who can't even crawl to Saltport to spend a few precious days beside the sea.

So I looked Moorland up in my guidebook to Greater Landmass. Apparently it's over-developed suburbia, named Moorland to conceal the fact that the entire area has been paved over with road and parking lots, grey Nowheresville flanked by Burger King, Caffe Nero, The Gap, and Old Navy. Not a destination I'd willingly choose to go, despite the immanent arrival of the train that goes in that direction. I guess I'll stick with Saltport, although God knows when I'll get there. Train still delayed and the time isn't exactly flying by. But there will be a baked cod dinner at some point in my future. Then I can stare at the ever changing ocean until my eyes get tired, thinking of all the many towns across the waves, and what they might have to offer.