it's true the days and nights converge, they meet at that hypnogogic point, they blur like tomorrows yesterdays and you travel in comfortable passage on the overland train, the fast one, the one that takes you to where you want to be in three stops. you order a water with lemon and specify you require cubed ice not anything with curves. the waitress looks at you momentarily absorbing your request and nods her head when she knows you are serious. yes this train reminds you of the days you travelled in your airship, how you year for their return, such sophistication and elegance. when you had money to burn and friends to burn it with. 
my drink arrives, i check the ice, 'perfect,' i say. the train moves quietly and speed takes me there by the time i have finished my drink. i am undisturbed and feel rested. 
central station is the usual hub of activity, even at this early hour, the guards wave you through the gate and you find a bus that takes you down to the quay. you stop off midway to purchase some books, you find some excellent ones in the japanese bookshop and then in galaxy where you are greeted by your book dealer who hands you a novel, the third and last in a science fiction trilogy, you exchange some words, money and pleasantries and then continue your journey. 
down on the waterfront you jump onto your vessel, a beaten up old wreck, carrying hordes of tourists, mostly wandering around looking at the view, a city drenched in sun, they shout in several languages and take photographs. you sit down thinking if you can't enjoy the peace and quiet you may as well enjoy the view, but as you sit back the boat is engulfed by fog, dense thick pea soup fog swallows you up and slowly you see it coming through the windows and the open parts of the boat, down the staircase, swallowing up everyone and everything, sound begins to diminish and then light seems to fade. you clutch your bag close to you as the cold fog penetrates everything and you know you are alone. when the fog recedes the vessel is empty, you can see the crews cabin where a hooded tall man beckons you towards him. you climb those steps, nervous but certain that there is no alternative. a skeletal hand, boney fingers reach to you handing you an envelope. you dare not look up, into the hood but you know you will, part of you knows what it will see. you open the envelope and in it is the contract. all your tomorrows for a pact with death.