Ten minutes to write on the following prompt:
The town is so quiet. Its heart beats just twice a day when the train goes through.
Tumbleweeds roll. Dust clouds spin. Leaves on the trees sway. Jeb had ridden past, ridden through this town dozens of times. Good and bad points to being a hobo. First time through, Jeb fell in love. Perfectly manicured lawns, tidy white houses, blue shutters, floral curtains and porches that wrap around the house. 10:05 a.m. and 6:37 p.m. Number 733 rolled through the town. Ladies waved at the train from doors, windows and porches. Kids waved from bikes, trikes and bus stops. Men waved from corners, cars and lawns. Every day, twice a day. Jeb thought this must be the friendliest place in the world.
He jumped from the 733 and went looking around town. Hadn't he just seen women and kids waving? Didn't he just see a group of men chatting on the corner? Where did they go?
He walked along Front Street, which ran parallel to the tracks. The streets were clean and quiet. He stopped at the corner of Front and Mirage, staring at a tidy white house.
Jeb jumped at hearing the exclamation. Up the steps, onto the porch, Jeb peered in through the front window. Inside, a little old man rifled through a heavy metal tool box and muttered to himself. The old man was working on some sort of a cutout, attached to springs, that lay flat on the floor. He tinkered and cursed then stepped back. The old man hit a remote control; up popped the cutout from the floor. A cutout of a woman smiling, one hand waving automatically. Jeb slumped against the wall and slid to the porch.