Chris Wilkensen

This train is a church in both its movements and its congregation. No one dares interrupt the silence. Metal rolling over rusted metal. Outside the scenery passes by like life to a teenager: fleeting but feeling never-ending. Most passengers wish they could be anywhere else to feel anything else, to feel something other than strictly operational. At each stop people …

I wished I’d never picked up the phone. But obeying drunken friends was a familiar formality so they wouldn’t swing or cry. Listening to inebriated chicks I’d never met turned out to be a different situation altogether. Unfortunately, it was second nature for me to follow instructions. I ended up driving to meet her, that drunken girl in my phone. …