If we were to continue from where we left off, our little train pulled safely into the station exactly two months from today, but with only seven-ninety out of the one thousand people on board having survived the harrowing experience of their grey cells nearly turning into potato mush. Which was an excellent outcome as it were, given the odds, and the little train was very thankful and humbled by the powers that be, but as little trains go, this one didn't seem to be too happy about things. There was for instance, this other train that'd passed through the same ravine and managed to bring back eight hundred and forty of her passengers alive. And another. And another. And the poor little train couldn't stand all this and it became very very ill.
Now the station master wasn't having any of this. He knew exactly what was bothering the little train but he was a little concerned too because he'd never seen the little train so ill in the past three, four years or so. So he sent the little train off to its home tucked between some distant hills for some well earned TLC.
And so the little train became well again. And then for the next two months, it took to the tracks with all the fervour and enthusiasm it could muster on having being ordered to craft dentures for the partially edentulous, along with other adventures that come with life on the railroads and all that jazz. And all was well with the world again.
Next week: Catch the Little Train and the Nasty Interdental Currettes and Hoes as they scale some of the most risky (and prolly stinky as hell) heights on the planet. Meanwhile, enjoy the March Madness and don't forget to feed the fish!