The Train that Goes Around the World

It was one of those rare nights in spring when it seems like a hot mid-summer night. Cars everywhere: a kind of takeover by teenagers and their cars – shirtsleeves, open windows, motorcycle cops.

It was the last night to turn in taxes. The last open mail drop in town, Terminal Station, across the railroad tracks. Cars, traffic cops, a giant sign on the corner: IRS MAIL. One block away the wooden arms go down and the red lights start flashing: a fucking train.
A guy with long hair and a girl with short hair smoke cigarettes and lean on the hood of a Pontiac. Translation: this is going to be a long train. Some drivers turn around. Some get out and light their own cigarettes. After about 20 minutes everyone realizes: this is THE TRAIN THAT GOES AROUND THE WORLD. Now nobody will ever cross. You must leave whatever it was…divided now by the train…never ending always separating the two sides from one another…always carrying off a world of riders…

THE TRAIN THAT GOES AROUND THE WORLD. It was dark and began to rain and the rain seemed to add to the darkness. The train was power, weight and speed and beckoned you to throw yourself into its wheels.

The train sweeps through the city collecting the souls of the dead. It’s always moving and never stops; it keeps going never stops continually adding another carfull of dead spirits.

On the train the spirits wander around, look out the windows. Since it’s usually night they end up playing cards. One train car is reserved for those who’ve died for love. Regular old dead spirits don’t like to pass through that car. It’s too sad; the atmosphere is just too heavy. The spirits of those who’ve died for love never play cards. They travel with their faces pressed to the window all the time.

You can’t seem them but they can see us. It’s the train that goes around the world