Billings

We make our way through the stinging hail and encroaching
darkness to the train. You've no shoes and a pail of mushrooms; pungent and
still warm from the field.   You stumbled
along the way and now your knees are bright like strawberries.   As we board; yellow
light engulfs us.   The conductor, consults the sky, his palm,
then his wrist and we lurch forward down the line.

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