To get to a studio I had for awhile I used to run across these railroad tracks behind a fence where the bus dropped me off. There were a lot of tracks, maybe 10, and to the left the tracks bent sharp to one direction so I had to always listen really carefully to figure out if trains were coming. Like all things, I eventually got a bit too careful, and my commute changed from one of careful listening to one of me listening to music and texting as I hopped from one track to the next. One day I stopped short between track 5 and 6, or maybe it was 7 and 8, and as I tried to update my Spotify playlist a train screamed by in front of me. It was so close and happened so suddenly, I thought at first it was something weird with my eyes, because suddenly the scene just looked so dramatically different, but then my brain sort of added in all the sound and vibrations, mixed the whole scene into a dish called Now, and I thought to myself, "I almost got hit by a train."
It passed quickly (a commuter train) and I was left in spring time air on empty tracks. Everything was a bit hazy. There were a pile of railway ties stacked just past the last track and I climbed up on them and laid down as if I was the next tie to be placed on the stack. I imagined myself covered in creosote, thick and sinking into a group of logs. My eyes were open at a blue sky and my clothes stretched with the spots that stuck into the creosote, the smell hung like old coats in forgotten closets, and I thought about if this was my new home.