Standing on the platform as the silver train, The train, glides in.
Passengers in their bedrooms raise the shades and look out.
The crew changes as the activity around the train continues.
The commotion slows and you can feel the anticipation like an orchestra waiting to play.
A man in the dining car looks out past the flowers in the vase by the window, past you, as the train begins to move without a sound.
The shades drop and No. 17 is gone.