I clicked both boots on the edge of the rail again as if I still had anything on them, just out of habit at that point, and thought about what song I would play right now if I had any juice left in my phone. It was cold outside, staring at my breath as if it were cigarette smoke, just waiting on word from the man on the train that we should get back on, and that we would finally be on our way. Dave Mason – We Just Disagree or maybe TK Webb – The Spade…. Out there it was golden white rolling hills that folded into one another and that short brush, destined to be tumbleweeds come late summer, freckled the face of the terrain. I daydreamed about how it would be if I had saved for a sleeper car. I could drink cheap beer and teach that wide eyed Amish kid I met in the seat in front of me how to play Texas hold ‘em, at least long enough to figure out why a nice old world religion family was headed to Mexico. I bet up there that goddamn conductor would find me a goddamn phone charger. But I guess this wasn’t something I could plan for. If I were back home on that tree covered hillside in lonely north east San Francisco waiting by the fire for her to come home I’d play the Rolling fucking stones, really goddamn loud so that I wouldn’t even hear her clomping up those old wooden steps. I’d just sing along “what a beautiful buuuuuzzzz” as she stumbled in, and I would be surprised to see her and happy as a clam in high water.