Born early, writhing and screaming at 11.17am.
If the train is on time, stone dead by 11.21.
Once a boy. Now a man. Always a son. He used to bombard his father with questions as he cleaned his gun.
His tears dry fast on his face: unyielding Texan sun.
It has shown no signs of appearing by 11.25.
11.26: He has started to notice the people around him. The balding man with his daughter on his back, who is holding a bucket and spade; two women smiling and taking pictures with a selfie stick.
11.27: He considers that if he does stop the train, then dad and daughter won’t go to the beach today.
11.29: In fact, he might ruin their lives.
16.55: That was our last stop, this train is now out of service. Do you have somewhere to go?