7:28 a.m. Boarding time: 7:52 a.m. Amtrak to Philadelphia. Rocky Balboa. Eagles. Flyers. Liberty Bell. Cheesesteak Sandwiches.
I’m waiting at the Stamford train station, sitting on a hardback plastic seat. So hard, you could substitute it for Kevlar. Lower back, displeased with status. I shift, restless.
To my left and across, two men, middle aged, hard hats on floor, work boots, unshaven – sit and discuss his work injury…hurt so bad…Percocet…Morphine…Floating. Both chuckle.
Across from me, large man, head bobbing, mouth gaping, asleep.
Passengers pass by through the automatic doors to Tracks 2 & 4. The doors hiss, at each open and close.
My eye spots movement below. A centipede. (And I’m not interested in you Entomologists out there telling me that it’s not a centipede. Where’s the 100 feet? We’re going with Centipede.)
Back to my Friend.
His legs are flailing. Turtle on its back, issuing an SOS distress signal. I watch it struggle for a few minutes and then turn away. I flip through emails.
Can’t focus. Distracted. Anxious…must be Centi’s anxiety transference. “Help me DK!”
I look around to see if anyone is watching. Then when I’ve established the coast is clear, I reach down and gently try to flip him. He sees a Giant: Danger! He rolls into a tightly, tucked black ball.
I grab my iPhone recognizing that there’s a story here. I’m 9 snaps in. Fuzzy shots. Too far away. Too close. Blurry. I look up and see the Percocet Boys are now watching. What’s that Idiot Suit doing?
I wait for him to unravel, my head is down, eyes are locked in. Please, unravel, and do so with 100 feet down.
I wait. Continue reading “Amtrak 2151 Acela Express. With Centi.”
