I only dream of trains and stations and crowds of friends and nameless folk always in a rush to get away.

Dawn departed hours ago and at noon I knew I had missed the train and felt that terrible fear that freezes your spine and convinces you you’d never get where you want to go.

Missing it, always missing it, by a mile.

For a while, when I took one day at a time—who’s kiddin’ who—I wondered when I’d want it, when I’d wince.

But the good thing about falling is that once you’re down, you want to grovel, like a prettified swine once you taste that mud, you just wallow.

People expect it.  Hell, you’ve told ‘em all, how many years you’re on the wagon.  They give you that look, though, that look that no one who’s never been on the wagon can’t understand, what weakness is.  Oh hell, they look at you and know you’re gonna fall, miss that train.

You never want to though.  You want to show ‘em.  How the weak become strong, how demons are beat.  I can fight.  I’m strong.

But there’s always something.  You just can’t ever tell.  The fight.  The split.  Her cheating.  Damn, her cheating.  Goddamn emotions, heavy like chains and painful as broken bones unset and scraping. 

I’ll show ‘em you think.  What harm they do.  And you relish it, all those dreams, every drink you ever wanted.  And you got it. 

The beer tangy as barbecue on an empty belly.  Then the shot, how it burns in delight, a tequila dream.  Vodka tonic—bitter and sophisticated like Bette Davis.  The rest loses its luster, but they’re still as free as a man escaped from a life sentence and you drink ‘em until they kick you out they’re so pissed that you are.

And the world!  In that dark magical nighttime stupor.  Everything hides a miracle.  And you know it all but you don’t feel nothin’.  Hell, just freedom.  Her cheating and all, thanks for the break.  Hah hah! 

I swear the piles of garbage are warmer and softer than any king-sized double-coiled mattress.  And even the stuff thrown out, better tasting than a fancy restaurant, and free!  Man, who’d ever throw this away. 

And you get hassled and all, but your heart don’t plead.  Don’t flutter up in fear, just more like what do you care, buddy? 

And you sleep so black having found a secret place and curl up to comfort.  And you don’t hurt, and you don’t dream, except of trains and missing ‘em.  But you always wake up and your heart still hurts with your head in your hands.  And you’re all hungover.