Work Text:
It felt strange, feet hitting pavement, grass, gravel, tracks. Strange turning away, running from not to; wrong, somehow, world dropping out underneath, falling through air. Felt remarkably right, too. Dangerously so. Like those first moments mainlining: warmth, flush, tug 'tween light and heavy, fall without end.
Drowsy morning light, sluggish slide across workers coming off/on shift, tripping over rails; yardmen deliberately dragging legs into line; promises to keep, driven towards sleep.
A moment's work of arms, hips; and Jack's inside, boxcar metal, cool, concrete against his back. For the first time in too much time, need necessitated biding time.