Tubgate

Welcome to Tubgate

The morning slog on the platform of the train station in the small Scottish town of Tubgate. Plonked halfway between the major cities of Woodstop and Adamburgh, Tubgate is an old coal mining town - but, its industry is long gone, forgotten and quite literally buried. That's why everyone who is anyone is standing - or trying to remain standing - on the platforms waiting on trains to the cities - with their eyelids dropping intermittently as the boredom of this task almost completely overtakes them like every weekday morning.

The same people every morning you don't speak to but have something in common with - you all get up in the early, dark hours of the morning, try and force down some food or coffee when it's not technically a meal time, brush your teeth, put on your most formal clothes, shoes, and, you all get the fuck out of Tubgate for the day.

The announcement speaker robotically mentions the platform you are on and you try not to spring ridiculously into action, keeping your cool until the train is actually in sight at least. Reminding yourself that the train is still taking you to an activity you don't actually want to partake in - whatever you might call your job. It's worth it, however, to get out of the town. The only reason you stay there is for the nicer and bigger house for the family.

The crowd all moves in the same direction like a flock of birds, eyes flicking over the zoetrope of the different cabin windows checking which ones have the most seats available inside - or at the worst, which ones have less people standing in them. Many people aim to walk the furthest distance to get to the first coach in hope that no one else is willing to take that long a journey. You've got to put a bit of work in for a good thing!

Groups crowd in front of each door in equal measure, waiting each like a dog for the ball to be launched into the park, for that little button to blink and the doors to slide open. They do. All at the same time.

In Tubgate, the Tubgaters commuting to the cities are ready to jump on right away. The crowd filters like sand through a toy filter in your kid's sandpit. The platform empties onto the morning's busiest train. It is now scarce where it was earlier mobbed. There is an extra silence in the air in the town now. The type of silence you get before a storm. Where only the odd seagull can be heard communicating to their friends that there is a bin bag unattended. The train screeches into gear and glides off. Remaining on the platform is only one woman.

Troopti Palmer, a well-dressed Middle Eastern, Asian, and, Caucasian woman holds onto her suitcases and appears as though she has just got off the train. She stands still, looking onto the town in anticipation - looking out of place - and takes a deep breath.

Troopti wanders through the small waiting room, passed the small confectionary shop and the ticket booths, dragging her several suitcases behind her. She approaches the closed front door, keeping out the dark rain building waterparks outside. She tries to balance her suitcases up against the walls - and these wheeled suitcases are not easy to balance. This begins to alert the eyes of the people working in the station. All of which don't seem to have aligned irises. That's when a man comes to door and opens it for her.

Troopti picks up her suitcases again, trying to get control of them to clear the doorway.

"After you," the man says as he hold the door wide and steps to the side. He looks messy, down on his luck and tired - and speaks in somewhat of a dour tone.

Troopti grabs her suitcases and tries not to take much of the man's time and get out swiftly. She really doesn't know how to react in this situation as this does not happen often in Woodstop. In fact, if someone held a door for you, you would be very worried what they were wanting from you. She walks through the gaping door, swiftly out to the small drop-off zone.