We’d been
waiting at the level crossing for about ten minutes, which is an eon for a Bulgarian
driver, so inevitably those queuing behind us ignored the red light, pulled out,
and drove around the barrier. Just us and the silver Corsa on the other side of
the tracks remained. Another five minutes passed. The Corsa driver got out of his
car, checked for trains in both directions, got back in, and crossed. As soon
as his wheels had left the tracks, the train rattled past. He stopped next to
us and wound his window down. ‘Train’s coming’ he said.
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