He now continues down a long ramp to the underground corridor that leads to the nearest lunar train station. He is more or less alone, except for some stragglers that he powers past.
The corridor is bright and white. Ten minutes pass, and he hears the bustling of a crowd in the distance. For a split second, he worries there will be no space for him. Fortunately, an echo has made it sound far busier than it is.
There is a group of six teenagers to his right. A mixture of girls and boys is laughing hysterically. He put them at around fifteen years of age.
To his left, a woman close to his age with short, jet black hair and tattoos on her arm.
I wonder if any of them are going to the fair.
He asks the AI on his wheelchair, Sarah, what time it is? He has time to spare.
Three minutes pass, and the lunar train arrives. Its doors automatically open, and he drives inside to the area reserved for wheelchairs. The wheelchair is then clamped in place by a robotic arm.
A smile broke out across his face as his excitement built.
There were numerous stops along the way. Each time, the crowd on the train grew.
Mark's Writing Corner 