Creative writing. This article first appeared in issue 13 of Umbrella Magazine.
Kyoto station, Japan. Pictures by Matthew Reynolds.
The 14:10 to Osaka glides into Kyoto station at 14:02 precisely. A smartly-dressed woman smiles, pausing her conversation momentarily to lift her phone and photograph its arrival. The train comes to a silent halt.
Suddenly, the doors open and scores of passengers empty onto the platform, disappearing down the stairs towards the ticket hall. Teams of cleaners step forward and stand poised in small, patient groups by each carriage. They wear spotless uniforms and a large blue chrysanthemum flower in their hats. It is 14:04.
At some unheard signal they enter the train and begin to clean. Windows are wiped, floors are vacuumed, tables are put away and the 360-degree rotating seats are all turned to face forward. The cleaners exit the train and the doors close behind them.
The conductor looks up and down the platform at the passengers waiting to board. Each carriage has two neat lines of people next to its doors, first or second-class travellers stood in their designated coloured walkways. He checks his watch. It is 14:08.
He turns to the front of the train and makes a small bow. The doors open. The passengers board the train quickly, stowing their luggage and finding their seats. They make themselves comfortable, stretching out their legs in the double-size footwells and logging on to the complimentary Wi-Fi. A whistle sounds. It is 14:10.
The doors shut. The conductor stands watching with his hands clasped behind his back as the beautiful bullet train glides onwards to Osaka.