George Harvey cast one final gaze around the empty lobby in the train depot. In 35 years, he’d never seen it devoid of human life.
He locked the door and grabbed his briefcase, the last contents of his former office tucked inside. He and the station had both been sent into early retirement.
His car waited in the parking lot. He’d never driven it home before. The 7:15 had always safely shuttled him home every night.
George should have watched the 17 car pile-up on the interstate from his television that night, but both he and the 7:15 had made their last runs.
Word Count: 99
[This is my entry into this weeks Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Use the photo prompt to create a short story in 100 words or less.]