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Hello, these are stories I wrote on the train or shortly after leaving a train. As such, they haven’t received much attention since I put these words to paper. Enjoy these raw, unedited storytelling thoughts born from a place I love, the train.
C. July 2022
would you like a piece of gum?
he doesn’t hesitate to sit next to me as the car quickly fills up
“is this the train to Warminster?”
I respond with a yes and quick nod after which he explains they transferred all these people filing in from another train. I ask if it was canceled,
“yep canceled” he echoes,
i pull out a pack of gum and offer a piece,
although grateful, he turns me down
i want to talk to him more,
he wears bifocals and i imagine asking if he reads, his favorite book,
i just finished a book and i’m looking for recommendations
he fidgets and fuddles with almost everything, his bag that looks like a purse, his green hat atop a head of gray hair. he has a habit of twiddling his thumbs
he came aboard with that green baseball cap on his head, took it off and put it in his bag, only 10 minutes later he retrieved it to place it atop his head again
halfway through our trip he grabs a piece of paper folded in half from the purse,
it read
Victor Ferrari, MD
Cardiologist
underneath is a phone number, written in a stranger’’s handwriting
he copies this info further down the page in his own handwriting
it’s all caps, a familiar handwriting that reminds me of my grandfather’s
he tears the sheet in two, dividing the copied data from the original, and puts both halves back into the bag
while we ride he grunts every now and then, something between a sigh and a groan
i turned off my music, pull out my earbuds to listen
as i collect my stuff while the train approaches my stop he mumbles some words and i nod to indicate i’m getting off
i thank him for moving and he wishes me luck, i think, i can’t remember what he said, he was hard to understand
i want to talk to him more
i took the piece of gum because i didn’t want my breath to smell bad
i think i expected to talk more or had hoped to, i don’t know
that’s how it goes with me and gum
i chew gum for conversations that never happen, for minty breath that will never be smelled
in another time, on another train, i’d like to get to know you, just for a few stops
5.20.2025
There’s a lot for totaled cars that sits right by the train tracks. If you’re headed to Chesnut Hill, sit on the left side and look out the window; you’ll see it somewhere between Tulpehocken and Upsal. If you look closely, you’ll see them too, running between cars, scrambling underneath the hoods, tearing bits and pieces off here and there. They live beneath the pile of tires, building machines with those car parts. The most wondrous things you can’t imagine. Machines that will end mankind.
5.22.2025
If you happen to find yourself in Rittenhouse Square on a Sunday, you’ll find a boy named David selling poems for nickels and dimes. Business is hard. No one carries change anymore, and no one pays any mind to his little sign. But if you do, you’ll find his poems aren’t of the regular kind. They’re made from borrowed words. After school, David heads to the tunnel where the train used to run. It’s here where he borrows his words. The tunnel’s walls are filled with the most beautiful words David has ever seen, in every shape, color, size, style imaginable. He scrawls them in his marbled notebook and rearranges them into poems. Sometimes he’ll add his own, but he mostly uses the tunnel words. If you have spare change and buy one of David’s poems, you’ll find yourself getting angry with the boy. These poems are nonsense and the words obscene, you’ll tell him. But David doesn’t understand how words so beautiful could be so bad. He’ll take your nickels and dimes back to the tunnel where the trains used to run. He counts his coins, sorts them into piles of ten, and takes just one from each. The rest he’ll give back to the wall of words, wedging them in the cracks between bricks. One day, David and his tunnel will be worth millions. And when the city is leveled, only David’s tunnel will be left standing, held up by nickels and dimes. If you go there, you’ll find the sun shining through the tunnel, and the walls will sparkle with the poems of a little boy.
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