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It's early morning, with thick fog surrounding you, you are standing trackside, with a camera in-hand. You hear in the distance, the chug of a locomotive coming towards you, and you hear the whistle announcing it arrival. It gets louder and lounder and then, through the fog, the engine emgerges, cutting through the thick fog like a knife, in all of her glory. You stand there, watching her pass by in awe---forgetting that you are wanting to get a photo of her---amased by her power and absolute beauty. Though, sadly, as time passes, her fire has been dumped and she quitely waits, under a protective shed next to her cousin, for another chance to run under her own power.
It's good to talk.