pop art painting

It was a fine night and he walked home to Bertram'sHotel after first getting into a bus which took him in the opposite direction. It wasmidnight when he got in and Bertram's Hotel at midnight usually preserved a decorousappearance of everyone having gone to bed. The lift was on a higher floor so the Canonwalked up the stairs. He came to his room, inserted the key in the lock, threw the dooropen and entered!
　　Good gracious, was he seeing things? But who –how – he saw the upraised arm too late…
　　Stars exploded in a kind of Guy Fawkes' display within his head…The Irish Mail rushed through the night. Or, morecorrectly through the darkness of the early morning hours.
　　At intervals the diesel engine gave its weirdbanshee warning cry. It was travelling at well over eighty miles an hour. It was on time.
　　Then, with some suddenness, the pace slackened asthe brakes came on. The wheels screamed as they gripped the metals. Slower… slower…. The guard put his head out of the windownoting the red signal ahead as the train came to a final halt. Some of the passengers wokeup. Most did not.