You could tell the ones who still remembered their street addresses by the way they watched the tracks. Most souls forgot their names by the second century, dissolving into the grey mud of the nether-reaches, but these two clung to their top hats and wool coats like an anchor against the void. The great skeletal locomotive ground to a halt before them, venting a lungful of sulfurous steam that smelled faintly of autumn bonfires and old dust. The conductor did not check their tickets; he simply swung open the iron ribs and waited for them to step inside.
