There is something inspiring about places of transit and movement. Trains are a means to an escape, sometimes inexplicably romantic and steeped with a sense of adventure. Or, just a way to get somewhere, depending on your sensibility.
Train stations have always precipitated in me a particular mood. I like the shiny platforms, the wide open spaces inside the stations, the muffled announcements on the PA, the hisses and metallic sounds of the trains, the anticipation of an excursion.
During my frequent bouts of general malaise, absent of inspiration and over-run by over-pondering brought forth by some perceived solitude, these are places that poke at that part of myself that wants to be going somewhere in secret.

Over the trains at Atocha.

The beginning and end, Cercanías Renfe.

 

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