(1) Isn’t it curious how the facts of an event become less stable with time? (2) The seats of a train change their colour and feel; (3) the poster boards on the platform vanish and were never there; (4) the day of the week shifts; (5) the wronged party becomes the cause. (6) The facts, it turns out, are more malleable than the fictions. (7) Unlike facts, fictions gain strength with time, drawing on the whole of experience, not merely the contingent. (8) “Don’t you remember how you felt when your eyes met across the carriage? It was Friday. You knew you were lost.”
(9) Perspectives shift. (10) The plain of the narrative jumps: (11) the space between two people in a train carriage; (12) the train and all its passengers; (13) the journey along a given line; (14) the passing world, with its fields full of rooks, its towns waking up and the speed of its passing. (15) In any one of those a tale could develop, radically different from one elsewhere.