Low Roar.

There was a low roar coming from out beyond the railroad tracks that had long since seen their day. Over-grown bush, thistles and weeds choked its stakes as if they were the only living things left that cared enough to hold on to its memory.

“I remember a few months back wishing that this train would come back to haunt me and whisk its way passed my window only feet away, once more. Kind of like summoning Something Wicked This Way Comes. I took down Trump that day, ya know. In my magic hat. I played High Hopes and stomped my way out the window, three stories off the ground.”

“Why?”

“Why, because Parliment asked for an answer and I gave them one. The answer lay in the Division Bell, where the grass was greener. I even had a Royal Flush. I shit you not.”

“Do you remember feeling this sure about anything before?”

“Yeah, when my gerbil, Frisky, committed suicide off the kitchen table. Ker plunk! I cried and cried and listened to Mom give me the run-down on death. I wished death to be an illusion. I was sure it was.”

“What happened to him?”

“I heard a ‘ping!#’ on the side of his cage. He came back to life.”

“Ah, like Love.”

“I wish it were that easy.”

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