Fragment of Chapter Scribbled Today in Coffee Shop

Chapter 8.

The train is nearing Anniston as I feel sleep starting to tug at me. Two microwaved ham sandwiches settle into my guts with all the subtlety of a trailer park couple fighting over the last swig of Ol' Grandad. I feel bludgeoned into this seat. It occurs to me that my body chemistry is going rancid.

A jostling behind me.

"Miss, you can't use that curtain as a blanket!"

"Fuck you sonny, ya got the goddamn AC on full blast!"

Her voice sounds like Mcarthyism and racetracks and film-strips showing you how to hide when the Reds nuke us. Annoying. Intriguing. I peer through the gap and subtly get an eyeball full. Holy Hannah! Trenches criscross her cheeks like writing in the sand, topped off by yellowish white hair frayed by cigars and bingo halls.

The conductor's mug is a funny mix of anger and pleading.

"Now miss, we'll get you a blanket..."

He timidly reaches for the curtain and she flings it over with a jerk of irritation.

"Better be quick about it sonny...or your ass belongs to Mama!"

A cackle escapes her, followed by a cough that manages to sound gleeful. She makes no attempt to restrain either.

Things quiet down as we ease into the station. Funny. This one has none of the concrete and steel trappings of the others. Just a little ticket office with a bench in front. There's a calm earnestness on the 12 or 15 faces readying to board. A nice change from the big city, where everyone's grill is all corked up with ego and drive.