Smoke billowed up into the air as the train was in its leaving stages. A few ponies were emerging from underground entrances and hastily trotting over to the train doors, turning back as they walked to say their brisk goodbyes to relatives sending them off, through the throngs of ponies at the platform and squeezing their way into the train. The morning chill forced many ponies to wear scarves and other thick articles of clothing, which flapped in the breeze as coughs, sputters and cries materialized into mist. A majority of relatives and friends seeing their loved ones for one last time before they left for the smoky streets and towering skyscrapers of Manehattan were lined up on the platform, with some waving their hooves at specific occupants of the train and others wailing sorrowfully. The separation of one from his loved ones at the station was a subject bearing relative themes amongst those in the crowd; for some, it was a melancholic event while for others, a feeling of great euphoria is clearly inferred from their demeanor. But for all, it is a change, a breath of fresh air from the rural lifestyle in PonyVille.
That held true for all on the train except for the conductors, perhaps. Trusty and tireless sentries to ensure the train is on the dot for the hundreds of trips it makes weekly, the conductors endure the same repetitive cycle of events that come with the job. The conductor also ensures safety for occupants on the train as well as checking all of the occupants' tickets, acting as the policemen of the train, if you will. If you won't, a certain conductor would most certainly beg to differ:
