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A lone figure, cock out, stands defiantly on the train tracks, the sun beating down as a train approaches. He doesn't move, doesn't flinch, as the wind from the train whips his hair and the first drops of piss fly from his cock, painting the tracks. The train screeches to a halt, the conductor's horn blaring, but he's lost in his own world, his cock pulsing, the rush of pissing in public overwhelming him. Finally, he zips up, leaving the train to depart, the tracks glistening in his wake.