Le Train

IMG_0203The train.  Oh the train.

We have in our packs: two bottles of wine, one wedge of very ripe cheese, half a three day old baguette, apples, two pieces of pecan pie, m&ms, and pears.  A child spins around with a penguin toy.  It is five a.m. in the morning.  We are not beyond opening this bottle of wine right now.

I am wearing a new sweater.  It is warm.  I am also wearing a new hat.  My hair is crazy.  My hair has proceeded to stage a revolution.  It has decided that its cow lick looks pretty good wide open on my head.  I keep the hat on.  Vincent says my hair looks “good.”  I think he is IMG_0204“wrong.”

We left my apartment at 3:45 a.m.  Oddly, I ran into my downstairs neighbors.  They were drunk and coming home.  I was leaving and sober.  I said “How odd it is to meet here now.”  And they said, “I like your backpack.”  I didn’t know if they were joking or serious.  They seemed serious, but they were also drunk.
Most people give me a hard time about my backpack.  I give these people the finger.  No.  I IMG_0216never do that.  Only in my head.

The train pulls up to the station and it is like the polar express.  It is an ice train.  There is a conductor: a real conductor.  He is wearing a suit and a hat and is official both in dress and demeanor.  I feel like I am Harry Potter going to Hogwarts.  Well actually I kind of feel like Hermione: crazy hair.

We find seats and it is cozy and warm and smells lovely.  Little do we know we will spend fourteen hours on this train.  For now, we are young and hopeful.  For now, we are smiles and about to take a nap and then get a coffee and then read books about France (me) (exciting) or read a 100 page contract about an apartment in Lyon, France (Vincent) (boring).

La belle vie.   Je suis heureux.


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