The train to forgetfulness
She leaned out of the train window and let the wind blow through her hair. Just how she had come to this place was a mystery, but she liked it. She liked the smell of the rain in the mountains. She liked the rhythm of the train. Back and forth, back and forth, a slow progression rocking her gently forward. If she sat in her assigned seat she slept within minutes. And so, she stood on the transom and let the wind whistle in her ears. Back home the bills were piling up, as were the inevitable phone calls. ...