Words Without End

Four authors on different trains are rattling along through the days and nights to unknown destinations.
Tony’s probably on his way to Newmarket to the National Stud for a course in artificial insemination.
The Kerouac-lite journey’s end is an illusion as he’s stuck on the Circle Line.
Jake Randolph is cruising nicely on California’s retro-metro on the Hollywood grapevine, deftly changing direction with each switch of the points.
The final train has barely left Liverpool Street, no destination indicated. Anxiety dreams aside can it avoid a ponderous end?
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