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Science Fiction Fan, v. 5, issue 9, whole 56, April 1941
Page 7
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FAN 7 it wouldn't rain, but now that I seen a downpour was inevitable a calm resolve settled over me and I was determined to stick It out regardless. Fatigue was unable to stand the gaff so departed from me, leaving a dull faraway ache in all my muscles. The constant vibration of the car coupled with deafening clatter and noise seemed to weave itself into living fingers plucking at my nerves. My mind had been lulled into an irritating restless drowsiness that at times the whole affair took on a cloak of unreality till some fresh cinder would too often snatch it from me. It is impossible to tell how long we had ridden, for neither Wiggins nor myself had brought a watch, until we pulled into a fair sized town, or at least It looked fairly big from the tracks. The engine pulled up alongside one of those typical depots and we were several cars from the lighted area. Perhaps a word about small town depots would not be out of place here. All of them, from casual observation are identical. In fact I openly accused them of pre-fabrication and I'm still not too sure they don't. We never entered one as we always looked too crummy to go in,but I have yet to see a major variation in a small town depot. They always face the track with a small platform. On the front and both sides are signs, lighted by night by weak green shaded bulbs. The signs always contain the name of the town in large letters, the elevation from sea level in some cases, and the amount of miles to the largest city either way. The light that illuminated the depot sign was out and we were at a loss as to what town it was until Wigglns seen a large neon sign over several blocks in the heart of the downtown district say
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FAN 7 it wouldn't rain, but now that I seen a downpour was inevitable a calm resolve settled over me and I was determined to stick It out regardless. Fatigue was unable to stand the gaff so departed from me, leaving a dull faraway ache in all my muscles. The constant vibration of the car coupled with deafening clatter and noise seemed to weave itself into living fingers plucking at my nerves. My mind had been lulled into an irritating restless drowsiness that at times the whole affair took on a cloak of unreality till some fresh cinder would too often snatch it from me. It is impossible to tell how long we had ridden, for neither Wiggins nor myself had brought a watch, until we pulled into a fair sized town, or at least It looked fairly big from the tracks. The engine pulled up alongside one of those typical depots and we were several cars from the lighted area. Perhaps a word about small town depots would not be out of place here. All of them, from casual observation are identical. In fact I openly accused them of pre-fabrication and I'm still not too sure they don't. We never entered one as we always looked too crummy to go in,but I have yet to see a major variation in a small town depot. They always face the track with a small platform. On the front and both sides are signs, lighted by night by weak green shaded bulbs. The signs always contain the name of the town in large letters, the elevation from sea level in some cases, and the amount of miles to the largest city either way. The light that illuminated the depot sign was out and we were at a loss as to what town it was until Wigglns seen a large neon sign over several blocks in the heart of the downtown district say
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