A boy sits up in the seat when he realizes he’s completely sprawled on his wheeled suitcase. Near him, sitting on the ground and with their backs to the wall, a couple of backpackers is engaged in the last of a whole ritual of sticky songs. Two friends do not interrupt their conversation next to the schedule panel and neither does a man look up from the odd page of a national newspaper.
They just reported on the megaphone at the Chamartín station that travelers to Badajoz must access the tracks through gate one, but nobody seems to be taken for granted. There are no burdens, there is no rush, there are no baggage checks. There are no proofreaders, no scanner for tickets. There are no friendly smiles or wishes for a good trip. There are no farewells, or stag parties. There are no races on the platform. There are stops. Thirteen. The following appear on the boarding gate monitor: Atocha Cercanías, Leganés, Torrijos, Talavera de la Reina, Oropesa, Navalmoral de la Mata, Monfragüe, Mirabel, Cañaveral, Cáceres, Mérida, Montijo and Badajoz.
There is a Media Distancia train with three carriages that leaves the station at 16.04 and there are hardly four passengers in carriage three.
***
The annoyed face of the one who discovers that his seat is in reverse and the surprise of the one who did not know that he would have to share a table. The transfer and the crowds in the corridors, the suitcases “that weigh a quintal”, the “excuse me, I think you are sitting in my place”, and the “I hang up on you that I’m going to be left without coverage”. The train fills up at the Atocha – Cercanías station and the last opportunity to travel by rail to Badajoz on a day like today, Friday May 5, vanishes at …
