Stranger on a Train

Today was an odd (and long) one.
It included:
idle chat with a couple old men at the diner counter covering everything from scorpions, to deserts, to findng campsite bathrooms in the dark, to travel, to exploring the country, to allergies, to hometowns and state rivalries;
saying goodbye;
hearing many rounds of "the song that gets on everyone's nerves";
last-minute visiting with yet another uncle and cousin;
riding a train for about 11 hours;
meeting nice folks in the lounge car;
watching the moon rise and change colors;
and
getting home on schedule.

The train separates the space, the time, the experience. I boarded in Eugene and alighted in Chico, but in between I was nowhere but on the train, suspended in time and space.
It brings you to an otherspace between realities, where you simply exist among others, devoid of the distractions of the outside world. You immerse yourself: in your thoughts, in conversation, in a book, in writing, in a reality of your own choosing.

Sitting across the aisle from we was a pair of passengers: a woman who read a novel, colored books, and sipped Diet cola; and a teen aged boy who wore TV glasses and ear phone plugged into a video game console, discretely playing his games and gulping his Mountain Dew.

Down in the snack bar under the lounge car, a porter entertained two women with stories of the Marine Corps, history, women in the Corps, codebreakers, World War II, and anecdotes of their uncle's exploits. One woman could barely stand, though the bar had closed an hour ago while the other drank milk. They shared an intense interest in the porter's storytelling.