Train Coming

Train coming. That's what they said, those guys who pedaled around selling secrets. It was like the guys selling pills. What would you get? A good night's sleep with sepia dreams, or a crushing headache? You'd never know until you forked over the trade. Up to you. Same with the news boys, those dirty gossips. Train coming. One guy from Ill—what the ghosts used to call Philadelphia—bought the word and spread it out, like tossing seeds from a bag. Some people want to believe so much, it pushes their eyes wide open.

Train coming. Coming from where? Going to where? No point in asking. No one knew. The news boys could have heard from someone farther out, just trading down the chain. They were right about the guys from the lab. Trucks showed up just when they said they would. Maybe this train business was for real. Still, the details were a little bare. "Train coming. Day after tomorrow." That was it. No times or anything. Not that you'd expect more.

There were still a few clocks here and there, but most people I knew looked funny at guys who kept them. You know those eccentrics? People who collect whatever? Birdbaths or umbrellas? You know what those things are? These guys and their clocks, same thing. No one talked about time anymore. Numbers weren’t the currency in those days. Everything moved slow. The air was fragile and resisted all attempts at order. Clocks, calendars. No one cared about things like that anymore.

Train coming. I didn’t want to get sucked into that whole mess, that quicksand. People learned to live right here right now. It took practice. Even after it was automatic, you could still feel tomorrows tugging at you. And what did that get you? But the hell else am I going to do? Watch the flies blurring the air outside my window? I went to the station. Tracks were still there. Had never seen a train come by. Thought I heard one once.