The black train was carrying Lost Billy east, away from the city. Away from life itself, some might say. Three homeless people, drunk on fortified wine, mad men with rotten livers, weakened hearts and holey imaginations, living on the wild edge of the desert and, probably, half waiting for their own black train to come. There are no inscriptions on the carriages, they would say. No company names, not even spray paint drawings. But this particular train carried only Lost Billy and a big guy in a wide-brimmed hat who stole his dog, Silly. The black train carried Lost Billy Over the Hell... But where is that? Nobody knows, we only know that it’s not on Earth, that’s for sure...

A story from the collection “Two Trains Running”