Onto the train. And here sat a horrible man. Filthy and probably dying. A horrible man, indeed. Let’s hope he dies sooner. Rather than later. But, not here on the train.
He stood up. Almost fell to the floor. The train zooms around corners. He said – no – he shouted,
“Rats drive this train!”
The others pretended not to hear the pronouncement.
“Rats drive your cars! They do! Don’t you hear me? Folks?”
We hear you. But, we hope you die.
“Oh, no. Oh, Lord,” he mumbled.
We hope you’re dead before you get to nowhere. We know you’re going nowhere.
He said, “You drive your cars.”
Now, we stood. And we dragged the disgusting man. Pulled and scratched him down. Onto the train-car floor. We decided that maybe. Maybe it would be a fine thing if he did die here and now.
And so. We ate him alive, screams and all.
The horrible man.
Rats do not drive this train.