Sometimes, sitting in the waiting room of the train station and hearing the familiar clickety-clack, the moan of a coming train, rising and rising as it nears; there is a moment, perhaps five seconds, when I cannot tell which direction it's coming from.
I can't see it yet. Is it my train or is it not? Is it going my way or the opposite way?
At that moment I don't want to find out. I can get up and take a look. And then I will know.
But no; I sit, rooted to that chair and let it all resolve itself by itself.
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