The Night Train to Varna

In the small Balkan country of Bulgaria, summer nights cling to you like wet laundry. On such a night, the overnight train from Sofia to Varna rumbled eastward across the dark countryside, packed to the brim with sweaty travelers, crying babies, sunflower seed shells, and the faint smell of boiled eggs. Air conditioning? Only in theory.

Two friends boarded the overcrowded train with one simple mission: find somewhere—anywhere—to sit. Even if it meant getting... creative.

Cabin by cabin, they moved down the corridor, crouching low, carefully peeking under every seat.

Passengers gave them puzzled looks. Finally, a curious voice asked, “What are you looking for?”

One of them straightened up with a sheepish grin. “Oh, nothing really. We just lost our pet snake. Probably hiding somewhere under the seats.”

Panic spread like wildfire. People shrieked, grabbed their bags, and fled the cabin as if it were on fire. Within moments, it was empty.

The two friends shut the door, drew the curtains, and stretched out across the seats with the satisfaction of two tactical geniuses. A moment later, they were fast asleep.

Hours passed.

They woke with the sun shining through the curtains and the distinct stillness of a stopped train. One of them sat up, stretched, and yawned.

“Feels like morning,” he muttered.
“Must be Varna by now,” said the other.

They peeked out the window. No seaside city. Just a gravel track, a bit of forest, and a railway worker poking under the wheels of the wagon with a flashlight and a long stick.

“Hey, man!” one of them called out. “Is this Varna?”

The worker looked up, clearly unimpressed.

“Varna? You serious? We had to unhook this wagon in the middle of the night. Some idiots lost a snake onboard, and we’ve been searching it ever since.”