Old Town Tram Station was never meant to survive this long, but it did, because the river demanded it. The tunnel beneath the Cumberland still carries the tram from the East Side to the South Side, a vital, unmonitored artery running below the waterline and beneath the city’s attention. While newer transit systems failed or were locked behind corporate access, this line kept moving, maintained just enough by people who could not afford for it to stop.
The station itself is carved from stained concrete and reinforced steel, its walls bearing decades of mineral seepage and flood marks from past river surges. The rails gleam faintly where countless wheels have polished them smooth. When the tram approaches, lights flicker, loose debris rattles, and the platform hums with deep vibration, a reminder that the river is only a ceiling away.
A noodle-and-alcohol café occupies the old ticket office, its windows long shattered and replaced with welded mesh. Steam from boiling pots mixes with the smell of ozone and oil. Riders grab bowls between stops, runners nurse drinks while waiting on contacts, and locals linger because the café is warm and neutral. The owner does not ask questions, but hears everything.
Nearby is the strange shop, a narrow storefront whose inventory shifts as unpredictably as the river above. Shelves hold sealed containers, water-damaged tech, mislabeled cyberware, and objects that feel older than the station itself. Some items come from river salvage, others from tunnels that do not appear on any map. The proprietor offers no explanations, only prices.
At the far end of the platform, a junk seller works among piles of scrap and half-functioning machines dragged up from collapsed access routes and maintenance shafts. River silt still cakes many items. Some are worthless. Some are dangerous. A few are relics of infrastructure no one remembers building.
Old Town Tram Station is loud, damp, and alive. It is watched, not by authorities, but by the people who depend on it. The tram still runs. The river still presses down. And every time the doors open, something moves between sides of the city that was never meant to cross so easily.
Maps:
