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The small town, nestled between the mountains, was still very much asleep.

It was an early morning in the beginning of December. One or two locals were up before the sun,

shoveling snow from the sidewalks and driveways.

Tom walked slowly, listening to his footsteps crunch on the thick blanket of snow.

Each one sounded slightly different than the last.

In the chilly morning air, his breath looked like a steam locomotive.

It formed delicate clouds of fog, billowing from his face.

Despite the low temperatures, Tom was full of anticipation. He was on his way to board the

Glacier Express. It was the first train he'd ever traveled on, an unforgettable journey that he'd

shared with his grandfather. After 30 years, it was time to relive the childhood experience that he

often daydreamed about. The small train station looked exactly the same. It had windows with

brown shutters and a clock tower perched right in the middle of the snow-covered roof.

Painted in beige, the station wasn't particularly attention-grabbing.

Only the tower, with a clock on each of its four sides, was a subtle reminder of the building's

function. Just outside the station, Tom knocked the snow off of his shoes. As he stepped through

the revolving door, the warmth of the building washed over him like a wave.

Feeling came back to his cheeks and fingertips. He enjoyed the sensation of warmth every time it

...