Despite the cold, there’s a surprising number of people on the Sunday morning 9:58 to Frankston.
Two uniformed sailors heading perhaps to the naval base at Crib Point after a night out (this train connects with the Stony Point train);
a lady who insists on standing all the way to McKinnon, papers in her hand, perhaps revision notes, she reads them intently;
a middle-aged couple, he with an iPod, her with a book, to occupy them;
a man with a cold and a big bottle of orange juice;
a girl in a plaid warm woollen coat and dyed red hair;
and me, among others.