The most accurate story.

About three hundred million seconds ago, I was sent south to the city of Ukhta for work. The wonderfully warm January weather made me happy all week.
It was time to leave this "southern" city with its bad roads and return to my native land in the vast north.
The old brick station building had about ten layers of paint. (This time, they chose a dark burgundy color with white trim on the corners, cornice, base, and window frames.)
"The cars are numbered from the front of the train," mumbled the loudspeaker indistinctly.
I have the first car, I remembered, and headed in the direction where it was supposed to stop. It was almost midnight. It was dark, and only snowflakes swirled around the single lamppost at the very edge of the platform.
I slowly walked up to it and started waiting. After a while, I saw a stray dog at the station, limping slightly as it walked towards me. I lost sight of it when it was no longer illuminated by the lamppost on the station building. Then I saw it again when the dog came closer to the pole where I was standing.
"No one will believe you anyway," said the dog, and disappeared into the nearby bushes.