The Poughkeepsie train
station is still here. This is probably
a WPA initiative that got a lot of fellas working once upon a time. I’m sitting in a warm waiting room, waiting
for the train to roll up and let people board.
I can remember standing in here, looking off down at the tracks when I
was seventeen. I was here with a number
of classmates and it felt like the world led out from the tracks. The world led down to the “city”. I was reading about the Chinese tourists
these days who are the second largest group visiting NYC, (second only to
Britain. That won’t last) and they were complaining that the city didn’t seem
very big. Times change, forever.
Now I’m down on the train.
I’ll say this for Metro North, the heat works. I’m got a window seat to enjoy the view. I do this by habit. It’s pitch black out. Perhaps I’ll see some lights on the river and
it will be atmospheric. I’m leaning up
against the wall and it is heated. There
are a thousand little holes that run along the slanted surface of the sill beneath
the window, radiating heat. The thaw is
complete for everywhere save my toes.
I’m almost ready to take my coat off.
We just rolled up to New Hamburg station, which is looking
pretty desolate this evening. If I’m not
mistaken there wasn’t a single solitary soul sanding here on the platform. A Spanish voice coming from some passenger, has
gotten me to put my headphones on. She
has a sad, moaning voice. She’s
complaining to someone. There is nothing
redeeming about this voice. She has
picked up the conversation again and she is spreading like molasses effulgence over
the music in my ear. I need to turn it
up, or find something more commanding.
We’ve arrived at Croton Harmon the logical mid point. I took a quick catnap before heading down but
I’m still exhausted. My body is craving
the deep sleep that I won’t eve obtain on a one-hour Metro North ride. I dream, for no reason I can discern about a
haircut. This I know when we slowly
approach Grand Central and the announcement has been made for the last stop.
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