![]() The trees beyond the train have begun to slow-I can see them more distinctly now. When I open my eyes again, it’s still nighttime. in February was the easiest thing in the world-he’d squat over the hole in the floor and sharpen his knife on the tracks. ![]() And they’re okay, aren’t they? I want to be tough like them, don’t I? If Andrew were here, I think-remembering the way he nonchalantly described this route to us, as though riding the train from Portland to L.A. I start to panic but remind myself that this sort of thing must happen to my friends who ride trains all the time. The gaping hole taunts me from beyond my ledge, sucking at the corners of my sleeping pad. If only I hadn’t lost my sleeping bag! Each time I succeed in gathering the tarp around me, the wind tears it away again, pulling it open with a thousand icy fingers and beating it against the frozen steel of the car. ![]() ![]() I lie down on my sleeping pad and wrap myself in the tarp, but I cannot rest. ![]()
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