Tuesday, August 21st

Consistently, drenching rain (front-end of Hurricane Dean). Mid-60s.

N: The platform was almost overflowing with human beings, unhappily huddled under the overhang for shelter. I pushed my way past the crowds onto the exposed part of the platform as a train came barreling into the station.

The A/C wasn't really on, so all the body heat and wet clothes, hair, and hot breathe fogged up the car and made me feel like I stuck my head inside the dirty dish washing machine of a filthy Chinese restaurant.

7: Train arrived as we arrived, not many people on the train. Saw Bulldog on the lookout at the other door.

G: Doors closed as I approached the train. I think, worse than missing the train is making eye contact with the conductor, seemingly powerless in an it's-not-up-to-me-talk-to-my-boss-who-makes-these-crazy-schedules kind of way, as they pull out of the station. Anyway, I sat on the train and read more of my Paulo Coehelo book. Not many people joined us on the commute.

In light of last week, I was happy to just be able to ride the rails.