Painstaking Pullman Porters on the rails reaching for my luggage
Rampages and riots quiet on the San Fransisco boats
Donkeys and cookie monsters draining the golden coins
out of the bucket
The train itself is the one
that writes the script.
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Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring...
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"Well...that was dramatic." I didn't know what he meant until I saw the ink spilled everywhere and the moths in her hair like ...