Leaping through the window, a hobo spirit, headed for a passing train
I sat myself in the corner,
She’s sitting on the train when she hears it, that tune.
‘Is that any good? I love him. I read his last book. I didn’t know he had a new one out until I saw an ad in the station.’
The earliest memory I have of trains is of their absence. I grew up across the street from a corn field. After the September harvest, all…