(continuation)
The clock ticked at 5:48 in the morning when Peter began his last day of work at the service of the British Railways. It was with great nostalgia in his chest that he placed his right hand, open, over the composition, on the last day he was to drive it.
- How I miss you! - he whispered, alone, enveloped by an enormous night darkness, continuing. - But life is cycles and mine is about to end in this task. - he felt a tear trickle down his face. - It's wrong, the whole process; It is wrong to throw a person into retirement so abruptly, inhumanly,
