The Nakhla Dog

I have waited weeks for this train-- sitting cross legged reading black and white paper, gray news under gray clouds. Arrival.

This is the right train. Finally. This is taking me places.

7am and I am awake. Make breakfast. Do dishes. Class. Write. Notes. Work.

Dinner.

Damn kids. My mother told me that if I put a penny on the tracks, I could derail the train. I thought about it every time I went somewhere with those machines that will eat 4 quarters and 1 penny, and give you 1 penny the size of a quarter, with it's "This is the best place ever/good thing you came here and got this damn penny squished so you will never forget your childhood.. unless you put me in a jar and put my jar in a box and my box in a closet and my closet in the far reaches of your now adult, or at least less innocent/penny squishing existence" signature, shiny where it was previously darkened by the mystery of time and pockets. You could have put that penny on a railroad track-- for free.

Shame nobody told those damn kids about how a single penny, can derail a 20,000 ton train.

She came. Jubilee. No sleep. Toss. Turn. Dreams of torture. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Im late. Blank page. Blank page. Blank screen. Emails? Damnit. I can't. Not today. Today I am a beehive and every thought is a bee and buzz buzz buzz they won't ever ever leave me alone or shut up and I am creative or desperate or curioius but not concentrated or ethical and certainly not going to the right place to see the right people or write the right damn things nononono. onesinglepennyandihavetippedoverintoascrapingwaveofironbearingearthandstoneandcoalintoacraterwitha newfacemoreshinyandnewbutinrealityancientandwhatisthisactionntostoppingforapparentlymybrilliantengineerdesignedmewith
antifrictioncarstoslideslideslideovergoodweatherandgoodfriendsandgoodfornothingnothings.screeeeeeeeeechscraaaaaape.

Ding. 8 little soldiers. I gobble them up.