A thousand and one tons, metal wheels squeaking on metal rails bending under the weight - freight from the world to the people, people visiting people, tank trains full of fluid cement or oil. The points change, another steel snake slithers slowly over the junction to a destination unknown. The boy in the window watches, wondering, enraptured by the sound, the sight, the smell. Bright colours smeared in the grime of the city. The burning odour of brakes, the morning odour of sweaty gents packed tight into a commuter train, occasionally punctured by strong perfume. Busy people busily reading, tapping their work into their phones so early in the day - and I am one of them but chanced to look up, look out, at the fascinating world around me, and watched like the boy in the window.