The train stops at a distance from a tiny village. From my window seat, I see a lone figure hurry out of a building and towards us.
He passes a construction site. The village has clearly been trying to grow towards the railway, but it is too small to make a difference. By the time it gets there, the railroad will be rusty and overgrown with grass.
The man is likewise small and slow. Before he arrives, the train gives a loud whistle and moves on.
I wave.