Is this what it’s like to be the crazy person on the train? The bag lady?

I look around my seat. I’m surrounded by piles of newspapers and half-finished crossword puzzles.  For the last two hours I’ve been scribbling like a madwoman, drawing lines and half-thoughts on scraps of paper.  

The lounge car is blowing through the Sierras, full of enthusiastic observers.  I am one of them. Another one is seated across the aisle, at another table, reading and occasionally looking out the window.  He makes a remark and we both smile.  At this moment, the entire world is my friend.

 I offer to share my snack, prefacing it with an explanation. He frowns and says, “It’s only 10 am.”

I shake my head as he leaves. Damn it. I shouldn’t have done that.  Who offers weed cookies to perfect strangers at 10 in the morning? Who?! Now he knows I’m flying high on the observation deck, having the visual treat of my life looking out this train window. Shit.

I take another bite of cookie and turn back to the window.

 

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