The Stranger looked back and he saw that the conductor was right. A group of figures in grey, shapeless clothes, perhaps the workers he had seen earlier digging out there on the plain, were now moving lethargically but with purpose across the cars. They helped down the passengers, but what they did with them and where they took them he couldn’t tell. He felt disinclined to ask. They were in the Thickening now and this was a job for the railway company. He followed the Kid towards the long cabin and saw that a sign did indeed say waiting room on the door. They went in.

The floor was clear if unswept. Long benches lined the walls, and he saw with some surprise that there were many people waiting there. They sat with their backs to the walls, the men in worn suits and hats, the women as drab as the men, and all looking down at the ground with dull and listless eyes. They looked as though they had been waiting a long time, and were ready to wait for a long while more. The Stranger himself felt bone-tired and robbed of vitality. He wanted nothing more now than to sit down on those self-same benches and wait. He wondered how long they’d been waiting for. Surely the train came past here often enough?

At the end of the long hall there was a small kiosk. They made towards it. No one looked up at them or observed their passing. He heard no chatting or rustle of pages, nothing but a dull silence. He was somewhat surprised to discover, upon arrival, that the kiosk counter was open for business. A large, pleasant-faced woman stood behind it, though she looked surprised at their arrival.

“Can I help you?”

“What happened to everyone here?” the Kid said. “They look like they’ve given up the ghost.”

The woman looked at him sharply but said nothing. The ticks of the clock reverberated through the building, through the Stranger’s bones. He was keenly aware that something was wrong. He just didn’t know what. There was no substance here, and the walls between this town and that other place were firm.

“Two coffees, please,” the Kid said.

“Coffee?” the woman said. She said it doubtfully, indeed as a woman trying to wake up from a deep and pleasant dream. “There is no coffee.”

“Well, what have you got?” the Kid said. “You must serve something.”

“Porridge,” the woman said.

“Porridge?”

The woman looked at him as though trying to place him.

“Porridge,” she said at last, with finality.

“But I don’t like porridge,” the Kid said, plaintively. The Stranger turned away from them. He took out a tough piece of jerky and chewed on it as he surveyed the waiting room. None of the waiting people stirred. He tried to concentrate but it was hard.