Waiting for the Train

messages to a world
that doesn’t notice and might not care if it did

Sitting in front of the tracks, waiting for the train to go by while the cars pile up on Happy Valley Road isn't a bad way to spend part of an afternoon.

There’s the graffiti, rushing from right to left — background a dull Pacific Union gray — like a slow-motion text animation. With pink swirls. And huge, goopy letters. A splash on steel. Love notes. Death threats. Somebody’s name. Anonymous messages to a world that doesn’t notice and might not care if it did.

I push down the parking brake, shift out of gear and don’t read a thing. Just let it all blur together. And I think how lucky I am to have no place to go, no need to rush. Except, I might just come out here tomorrow afternoon to watch another train. And maybe the next day. And the next.