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Malden Station, the second to last stop on the Orange Line, north of Boston.


A roaring ruckus of metal against metal thunders above the Malden bus station. The familiar tune rolls in every few minutes, signaling either the arrival of the T or the commuter rail. In the early evenings of late fall, trains haul in carriages crammed with passengers on their way out of Boston.

Once the carriage doors slide open, there is no stopping the masses of bodies that cascade out onto the platform. Without a moment's hesitation, the same throng march onwards like mechanical bodies in motion. Down the stairs they go and straight through the ticket gates. They then flitter to differing corners of the station to catch the next scheduled bus, flocking to the many bus poles like moths to light.

Moments later they board their buses and proceed with their journeys, disappearing just as abruptly as they had appeared; en route to elsewhere.

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