Sun is going down and there isn’t really a story to tell yet. This anonymous watchman will soon begin his all night shift, casting the light from his polished brass oil lamp into the dark places of the rail yard, the half opened freight car doors and three walled switch sheds that form a railroader’s nightscape. The punch clock hanging around his neck like a pendulum will record his time and place as he passed by the watch stations scattered around his territory, himself a sort of night train moving along a time table. No gun or ax handle for company, his main job is just being there and his most valuable tools are his night vision and capacity for staying awake. A laconic Diogenes from the age of steam.