Luís Rei Núñez

Sample

We heard the roar of a herd of bison, but none of us batted an eyelid: it’s always the same when the Madrid Express comes in. The railway station is very near, and the whole district adjusts its clocks – more or less accurately – according to Renfe’s earthquake chart.

“It’s seven o’clock,” says Odilo, butting in on Mungo, a customer who used the afternoon to come and do some passport photos.

In a quarter of an hour, the Northern goods train, which normally registers a much lower intensity, will depart, but this arrival just now is still shaking the rolls of film that invade the shelves in the display case. It’s a tip from the locomotive, which carries on coughing and spluttering at the platform for a while.

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