He was restless as he waited for the train to come to a complete stop and them all to be released from the self imposed imprisonment of a crowded train car of those who couldn't afford a private room in a car for the upper class. It felt like forever to him that he had to wait for the screeching of the locked wheels to cease and the hiss of steam that signaled the end of his journey from his family's home to Whitby.

And then the time came, and the man stepped out of the car among a crowd, his satchel over his shoulder by that point. He wove through the people teaming about the busy train station and moved to seat himself on a bench while he thought of which way to wander next. He would pull out a sandwich that he had packed, eating the cheese and bread without much ado.

While he sat there, he seemed to stare off, not really rushing to fill his stomach.