I imagine the train would look warm from the outside. The dark grey skies. Slippery grey roads. Dark green smudges of shrub.
And the train. Lit up on either side, holding the silhouettes of many.
Yes, it's safe in the train.
But there, on the other side, more green smudges, and then? Then the grey and white mass.
Tossing. Turning. Throwing itself about like there's no tomorrow.
The silhouettes turn their heads, and avert their eyes. Thick wads of paper filled with stories lose their wonder. Melodies lose their beauty. And screens, their captives.
The Sea. La Mers.
It steals them.