On Track Thirteen, a train without a schedule waits for passengers ready to step into somewhere that does not exist until they imagine it. The conductor wears no badge, only a pin that reads, "What do you want to see?" Nora boards with a notebook of half-finished settings. She imagines a city with canals made of ink and rooftops that collect ideas like rain. The train lurches; windows turn blank white, then fill with a skyline matching her thoughts. Fellow passengers add their own: a market where memories are sold in paper cones; a plaza where statues change poses nightly. As the train approaches, the Unwritten City crystallizes into cobblestones and alleys. They disembark into a place built by collective speculation.
There are no maps unless someone draws them. The city thrives on curiosity; if no one wonders about a street, it fades. Nora spends days walking, writing details to keep neighborhoods alive. She meets others from the train. Together they form a loose council, ensuring the city has enough bakery smells and public benches. Problems arise when a passenger imagines a tower of bureaucracy that replicates itself endlessly, casting shadows. The council decides to stop thinking about the tower. It dissolves. One night, Nora dreams of a harbor the city lacks. She wakes to find a pier forming, planks smelling of cedar and possibility. When she finally boards the return train, the conductor asks if she will visit again. Nora nods and leaves her notebook behind, trusting the city to keep writing itself. Back home, she finds a new blank page tucked in her coat pocket, damp with canal mist. The Unwritten City is never finished; it waits for the next passenger to decide what matters enough to exist.
Months later, Nora receives postcards from the Unwritten City—paper squares filled with smudges and half-phrases, as if the place is trying to learn how to mail itself. She frames them. When writer's block hits, she returns to Track Thirteen. The conductor smiles, pin now reading, "What did you forget to imagine?" Nora adds playgrounds for forgotten toys and a museum of abandoned drafts. The city obliges, grateful to anyone willing to think it into deeper detail. Leaving feels like closing a book mid-chapter, but Nora knows the city keeps breathing in ink and speculation without her, waiting patiently for the next trainload of authors.