Which Platform?
30th May 1936: A very young passenger asks a station attendant for directions, on the railway platform at Bristol. (Photo by George W. Hales/Fox Photos/Getty Images) (via Newthom)
Tag: Travel
Flight AA2632 to DFW. And Dreamin’ of Just One Time.
5:15 A.M. Monday Morning.
Terminal B LaGuardia Airport. Not America’s finest example of its greatness or its Might. Dark. Dingy. Beyond Stale. Earning its status as the Worst Airport in the Country. Dead last in surveys. Sad, really.
Lines are backing up at Security, including TSA pre-check.
One hour and 5 minutes to boarding: Flight AA2632 to DFW.
I clear security.
And I walk.
- AA2126. Boston. 6:00 a.m. Sit in the stands at a Red Sox game.
- AA4752. Washington. 6:00 a.m. Sit on the steps at Lincoln Memorial.
- AA4527. Atlanta. 6:05 a.m. Lounge in the Georgia Aquarium.
What if. Just what if. Just one time. You call it in sick. A Sick Day. What’s that? You walk back out of the terminal, stroll up to the American Airlines ticket counter, pull out your credit card, pay full price for a ticket and…take off…to…anywhere else. Like take a day trip. By yourself. To anywhere else. Turn off your cellphone(s). And disappear, for one day. Off Grid. Just one time. Continue reading “Flight AA2632 to DFW. And Dreamin’ of Just One Time.”
Riding I-95 South. With Cuts.
I’m crossing the I-95 overpass, aiming to circle back and slide down the ramp into the pack – the morning rush is backed up for miles.
I wait at the stoplight.
Four girls, 7-8 years old, blue skirts, sweaters, hair pulled back, backpacks bouncing on their backs…hustle across the crosswalk, all four with iPhones cradled in both hands. Texting. Surfing. Instagram. Facebook. Snapchat. Hands, eyes, fingers, all blind to the onset of autumn in the trees overhead, and the yellowing leaves which quiver from the gentle breeze easing in from the North. The light turns, I see them in the rear view mirror, heads down. And likely still down at this moment. The scene replays in a loop. Something Large, is irretrievably Lost.
I inch down 95.
Something Large, is irretrievable Lost. A 1/2 mile stretch on my right, formerly lined with thick, lush trees, the same trees that separated the commuter train lines from the suburbs, the same trees offering a moment’s sanctuary from Work-to-Come or Work-Behind-Us, these same Giant trees, thick with foliage…are Gone.
A giant yellow earthmover hulks along the highway, resting from the mayhem it delivered overnight. Creating What? Room for a second lane exiting into Greenwich? Another rail line? Tree-free space to stand-up cinder block distribution warehouses for Amazon, that stretch for acres, offering convenient access to I-95?
I pass the clear cut, the traffic eases and it’s all behind me. Or so I think. Continue reading “Riding I-95 South. With Cuts.”
Amtrak 2151 Acela Express. With Centi.
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.”
Riding I-95 North and South. Empty Nest. (Not)
It’s 1:35 a.m. I’m up. What’s that kid’s tune? How does it go? Head and shoulders knees and toes. Knees and toes. I wiggle my toes, roll over in bed to my other side. Beyond fatigue. Restless. It all aches. Get up and write about it.
560 miles. 4.5 hours down on I-95 S to Washington, D.C. 5.25 hours back in heavy traffic. Three hours in between clearing out Eric’s apartment and filling a U-haul. Who said girls accumulate more sh*t than guys? Clothes. Shoes. Shoes. Shoes. Box Spring. Mattress. Headboard. Television. Couch. Chair. Dresser. Boxes and more boxes and more boxes. Five flights of stairs. I’m too old for this sh*t.
It started at 5:15 a.m. yesterday. No, that’s not correct. We moved him in almost 2 years to the day. Job in DC. Girlfriend in D.C. Followed by break-up with girlfriend four months ago. No reason given. We loved her. He bristled upon any query. Someone who had become a welcome addition to the Family, Gone. Sad, really.
And it was but a few weeks after we learned of the break-up (via Facebook status change), Dad started in on his Son.
Your job enables you to live anywhere? Why sink $2,000 into rent every month?
Your Mom would love for you to come home.
We’ll get a puppy, really, if you come home.
I’ll knock the wall out between your old room and your sister’s room. You’ll have a giant suite!
Think of the money you’ll save if you move back home. You’ll be able to afford that travel you so love to do.
Did you talk to your Boss about changing your base location to NY?
Are you still paying $2,000 a month rent? On your salary, how do you save any money? Continue reading “Riding I-95 North and South. Empty Nest. (Not)”