This story isn’t mine. I don’t even know if it’s true. I simply overheard it on the train the other day, and it’s so good that I had to share it.
So there’s thig guy who’s a grafitti bomber, or whatever they call themselves nowadays (damn young people). He and some of his fellow bombers have snuck into the railyards in Welshpool and have been spraying up some carriages on a freight train. One of their mates arrives late and brings McDonalds with him, so they all settle down on top of a carriage to eat.
The train starts.
The guy telling the story bails. He lands face first in the gravel by the side of the track and pulls himself to his feet, yelling for his mates to jump off. Half of them are too scared to leap, and the others are having too much fun. He runs alongside the train until it outpaces him, and his mates ride off into the distance. With nothing else to do he heads home.
Six hours later he gets a phone call. It’s from his mates. The train didn’t stop or even slow down until it reached the goldfields and they’re now stuck in Kalgoorlie with no way home and nothing but the clothes on their backs, the keys to their cars (550km behind them) and the handful of change they had in their collective pockets…
There’s any number of reasons why that’s probably not true, but God damn I hope it is 😀
