The Last Train Home
; "train through the arches")
This is the last train home. It's about a quarter to seven on a Tuesday evening. By the luck of the draw, this is one of the newer ones with overhead storage and tables, so I have somewhere to rest this antiquated Palm keyboard. Hardly anyone else is aboard.
I would have taken an earlier train, but visited the new main library instead. When I bring my camera next time, I'll share some of the "interesting" public art. The place is immense and beautiful.
I was trying to hunt down a copy of David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day. The catalog said to check the shelves, so I did, but found absolutely nothing. While I could have expended more energy searching for it in the vastness that was the library, I didn't bring enough food or water.
Instead, I checked out Old Songs in a New Cafe by Robert James Waller, better known for The Bridges of Madison County. To make me laugh, I also borrowed Terry Pratchett's Lords and Ladies.
Before I left, I grabbed a salad from On Fourth, the library cafe. The place felt very sterile and generic. Perhaps if they organized the menu by the Dewey Decimal System, it might have given it more character.
"Yes, I'll have the 641.6373 with an extra shot and no whip. Oh, and may I get a 641.84 on whole wheat please?"
On my way out, I passed by some new luxury apartments and condos. One in particular, 101 San Fernando, caught my eye. If ever I was to live downtown, that wouldn’t be a bad spot. It's so close to work, restaurants, theatres, parks, gyms, museums and cafes.
I daydreamed about living there while walking to the depot to catch the last train home, a little town bordered by open fields, reservoirs and hills. When I stop and think, it is a good place to call home for now. Away from it all, but close to it all.
It's about a quarter after seven and I feel the train pulling into the station. Time to go.
