Call out the cadaver dogs

This is Pierre's last guest post for me! As anyone can tell if they regularly read my usual posts, I've not edited anything he wrote.


Day 5: The Voyage Home.

Now that may sound like a star trek movie, and I can tell you that the train ride home certainly had a lot in common with a Captain Kirk adventure. There were slightly off-human creatures everywhere and we rode a vehicle that rocked and swayed as if it were being pummeled by Klingon torpedoes. But one expects that in a train ride. What did surprise me however was the post-apocalyptic landscape rushing by.... scores of boarded up factories and worn out little towns. I probably imagined the mutant faces peering out of the splintered window panes because by the time we reached Albany the vodka was starting to kick-in.

I’ve always maintained that it does me no good to think too much. That includes my past, my immediate surroundings and the nasty consequences of whatever I happen to be doing. But sometimes I wonder. For instance, why was I the only passenger asked by the customs agent whether I was carrying any alcohol? And what am I to make of the crazy old bat with one of those creepy Eastern European accents who whispered to me that she only pretended to be an invalid so she could get a better seat and said "you a big mouth" when I told everyone? Am I suppose to ignore the fact that Henry the Club-car attendant looks like an over-fed harem eunuch? I’ve come to the conclusion that only the young and the inebriated can tolerate train travel.