The mid-twenties man with messy hair and stubble on his chin takes the last sip of his coffee. His right elbow is on the table and his cheek rests on his hand as if it were a pillow.
"Sir?" The young woman repeats.
He glances up at her with little expression on his face. In her hand is a kettle and she wears her dirty blonde hair in a messy bun.
"More coffee?" She politely asks.
The slouched over man looks at his mug for a few moments before answering, probably deciding whether or not he wanted more coffee. Or deciding if he needed it; he had formed a caffeine addiction soon after he left his wife. He was so in love with her that it broke him more than words could explain when he found out she had been cheating on him for three months.

He didn't want to lose her but he couldn't forgive her, so he left.

"Sure, thanks." He sighs and moves his mug closer to the waitress. She gently pours coffee into his mug and their eyes meet for a lingering moment until he breaks the stare. But she saw more than colour in his eyes; she saw pain, and innocence.

His eyes just don't have that sparkle in them, they have a sad story. She thinks to herself.

The whites of his eyes were red because of his insomnia and heartbroken tears.

He really missed the woman he used to love, and part of him still loved her. She broke his heart yet he still missed her, like deserts missed the rain. But he didn't want her anymore, he wanted the girl he fell in love with at seventeen.

An almost sad smile appears on the young woman's face; one that isn't completely sad because it shows sympathy. The man stares at the steam as it leaves the mug and vanishes when it reaches a certain point. He takes the amount he owes for the drink and hands it to the woman. She reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out a small carton of milk, as well as cream, and places it on the table.

He raises a hand in front of him, "no thanks, I'll have it black this time." He informs her. She nods and takes the cartons back and slides them into her pocket, "alright Sir, enjoy your coffee." She nicely says. Then, she turns on her heel and walks away.

The coffee on the train was only a dollar, the man had been there for a couple hours, finishing three cups of coffee and the one he was drinking now would make four. He doesn't know exactly where he is going, he is just going. I think part of him wants to ride the train around the entire world while the other part just wants to get lost.

Of course, if it were one or the other, he'd get lost, he probably already was.

The train stops, a few people get off and a few get on. The doors close and the train starts moving again, soon adjusting to the same speed it was moving in before.

The twenty-four year old girl, the one who served coffee, became somewhat interested in the sad man sitting at the far corner table who drank a lot of coffee. It wasn't the I-want-to-date-him kind of interested, it was the I-want-to-know-what-makes-him-tick kind of interested, she wanted to know what was behind that handsome exterior, what his fears were, if he liked cats better than dogs or if it was the other way around. There was so many things she wanted to know about this stranger, but she had no idea where he was getting off.

She looks over to him and sees that his face is buried in his hands.

This waitress was an observer, she saw things differently, people differently, it was like she always saw beyond appearances, and she was never quick to judge. Because before judging anyone, she would question why the person might act the way they do.

The man sighs and moves his hand through the steam, causing it to break, then reattach. He shuts his eyes and his head thumps back against the cushion head rest.

His ex wife, Julie Benson, invades his mind again. Ever since he left her with the scumbag she replaced him for, he couldn't get her out of his head. He still can't.

Was she really going to stop seeing that man? Was she really sorry? Was leaving her a mistake? His mind spins with questions he can't answer.

He presses two fingers against his temples and moves them in circular motions. Thinking about Julie was giving him a headache, or maybe it was the coffee.

"There you go Miss, that'll be one dollar." The sweet voice of the blonde waitress catches the mans attention. It is then when he realizes all the sounds around him, like the tapping of a pen, turning of pages, and every so often the quiet sounds are cut off by a sharp laugh. "I'm sorry, the coffee on this train isn't free." The distant conversation between the waitress and an older woman continues. The man sips his warm coffee and thinks about too many things at the same time. He shuts his eyes and listens to the train sliding against the tracks, listening to sounds was the the only way to distract himself.

"Thank you, I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, Miss, enjoy your drink."

Her voice is so soft. He thinks, eyes still closed, still listening to every little sound. Ever since he left his wife, he hadn't really thought about himself with another woman. It was too hard for him to picture, and it brought him some pain because he used to think Julie was his happy ending, his forever. Nothing lasts forever, though. Nothing. But this man thought this woman would be the woman he'd die with, the woman he'd be with when forever came to it's end.

Life is always a surprise, it can be fun but terrible.

The man thought his life was terrible, it didn't matter that he had lots of money, because that was all he had now and he was unhappy.

Closing his eyes, the man finds himself thinking about the young waitress who served his coffee. He wasn't thinking about her in selfish ways, not at all, he was simply remembering how captivating her eyes were. How the sun shining through the glass train window caught her light brown eyes while she was pouring his coffee, they went from brown to a honey gold.

He wasn't attracted to her, but he did find her attractive.

She was beautiful and sweet after all, her body was slim but she was no runway model. The prettiest thing about her was confidence, it made her shine a little brighter.

The messy haired man stares out into the blurry world behind the glass. He watches everything pass by, trees mostly. "Isn't it cool how to us it looks like everything out there is moving so fast and in here nothing's moving," the man turns his head to see the beautiful waitress standing behind him, "when really, we are moving so fast and that blurry mess is just the reflection of the speed we're moving in." She looks away from the window and for the second time, their eyes meet. A smile tugs the corner of his sad lips, he hadn't smiled in so long, but her eyes were so mesmerizing to him. "Huh, how observant." He replies, analyzing her pretty face.

They look at each other for a few lingering moments, until she breaks the stare, the same way he broke it before. But he saw more than colour in her eyes; he saw curiosity, and innocence. "Your eyes, they're really nice." He says.

She laughs quietly, "why thank you, yours are nice too. They remind me of evergreens; my favourite type of tree." She nicely states. Now, the man notices her smile, how it's so bright yet something about it hides something so dark, and sad. He wasn't keen to observing as she was, but when he saw her smile, he saw a story that came with it. Every smile hides a story, but her's more than any he'd seen.

The man gives a small smile, but the muscles in his jaws are weak from not smiling for so long that he has trouble holding it. The smile doesn't last long but inside it continues.

"Hm, thank you, evergreens are nice, my favourite type of tree would have to be..." He looks up and touches the stubble on his chin, "aha, I love Willow's. I think they're beautiful."

The young woman's cheeks turn pink, but he isn't sure why.

"Oh, yeah those tree's are nice, my mother must have really liked them." She laughs.

"Hm?"

"Oh, my name is Willow." She tells him.

His eyebrows raise out of surprise. "Oh what are the chances, well if it matters, Willow, I think you're beautiful too," he compliments. "I'm William, but I go by Liam now."

His ex wife called him William, so did his family, but now, with a new life, he's a new man-- Liam Fitzgerald.

She takes his empty mug off the table, "nice to meet you Liam, and thank you. You don't want anymore coffee right?"
Liam shakes his head, "no I've had quite enough, and techinically we met five hours ago when you served my first cup of coffee, but it's nice to meet you too, Willow."

The way he says my name. Willow smiles as she goes over the last sentence in her head -- it's nice to meet you too, Willow.
The sound is so sweet and gentle, like my name is delicately placed on his tongue and he doesn't want to let it go.

Once she realizes that she's been standing there for so long, not talking, she snaps out of her thoughtful gaze. "I'll be back in a sec." And with that, she turns and walks away with the mug in hand and a smile etched onto her face.

Huh, that was kind of nice. The man thinks after Willow is gone. He slumps back down into his seat and takes a look out the window. 'When really, we are moving so fast and that blurry mess is just the reflection of the speed we're moving in.' Something Willow had said comes to Liam's mind as he watches the blurry mess. Hm, I like the way she thinks, and talks.

Then, pain refills Liam Fitzgeralds's tired eyes, pain that never left him, heartache. His heart was still broken, something that he knew wasn't fixable. But maybe it was? Maybe he just needed to find someone willing to pick up the pieces and glue them back together with care, love.

A heavy sigh escapes his lips, in this very moment, his heart hurts and his eyes feel weary. But he refuses to let himself fall apart, he checks his wristwatch-- four o'clock, it's been six hours since he left London. He came with enough a person running away would need to survive; a suitcase filled with clothes, money, some snacks, a napsack with his laptop and favourite books, his camera, and more. Except, Liam Fitzgerald was a twenty-six year old man, he wasn't running away; he was walking away, and the saddest part, no one stopped him. Not his mother, father, not Julie, nor his younger brother Alexander, no one, he knew he was unwanted. Oh, he knew.

That is why he didn't care where he was going, he was going wherever the train took him.

Goodbye, London.
Train, take me anywhere.