…The first class coach, though luxurious, was empty. The only occupants beside the conductor were a wiry old man in a black jacket and I. He appeared fitter than most people his age. His grace lay not in his straight spine but in the smooth gray hair that contrasted to his black leather jacket. He resembled an old-fashioned headmaster, once an authority, still clinging on to his dogmatic ways. Every time I took a picture and the camera produced a low whine, he jerked his fragile neck as if a gun had accidentally fired in the carriage!…
Writing – Non Fiction page