“Are you handicap?” the lady in the blue moo moo ask me when the door slides open? It is late, I’ve been deathly ill and I’m still not feeling well, so my response may have been some what delayed, “Well if you Aint Handicap then your car is up stairs!” the rest of the room declares in a less than friendly tone. I back away somewhat frightened, somewhat apologetic that was when I noticed the sign seats 140- 175 upstairs.
When I finally sat down in an unoccupied seat I may have finally come to terms with the idea that 11:59 really isn’t the most magical time to leave a train station. A The train station, if you can call it that, in SLC really wasn’t much more than some parked cars a temporary building housing a few rows of discarded airport chairs with cracked and stained vinyl peeling from center, and chain link fence. I believe I was actually heading back to my auto when the conductor called out All Aboard! then confronted me head on and said “You board over here sir”— which I took to mean “if you go that way you are wuss, bock, bock, bock”. So telling myself that I was no chicken I boarded the train which leads you back my opening paragraph.
Currently I’m sitting in a friends loft in San Francisco high over Market Street and I’m really grateful I made the trip. I have so much more to write and promise to do so at the beginning of next week. I just wanted to give you all an idea of what I was up to and push down some of the older boring post.
