The Train

When I woke, there was a palm tree. The sun had risen and breakfast was no longer being served. I pull out my ziplock of almonds and begin splitting them apart with my teeth revealing their smooth inner flanks. The train is stopped again as we wait our turn to get past the work gang. The snowy countryside of Oregon is now long gone. The bilingual boy of two years and six months is telling his mother incessently that his teddy bear nees to go to sleep. This is shortly after he dumped his dixie cup of water on the floor.

I wake again. The rolling hills echo one another. Through the mist the cattle graze over the sparsly green grass at dusk. As we snake along slicing through nature, the hills give birth to lights and a city. The shuffly heterosexual male walks by commenting on my state of consciousness. And then on my journaling with scarlett ink..."hott stuff"...I don't have a red pen. And then have I read The Scarlett Letter. And then a joke about Hester Prynne's actions because everyone needs a hobby.

Again, the shuffling by... his finger touched his lips and he leaned in as I kept my water bottle firmly in my face. "There once was a song...the sound of silence"
Squakity-squak-wak-6:45 dinner reservations-squakity-squak-wak.
"God-damn"
Earlier he pegged me and Jew as a non-Christian because we didn't get a vague hymn reference regarding a cross-eyed doll. I'd consider moving if I thought it would help me avoid him.

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