Sitting here. This wooden bench is not uncomfortable; at the same time it is not overwhelmingly comfortable. The train is due soon. People come and go. Families with young children trying to contain their herd look at the seats beside me and hurry past. A bum with a forced humble expression looks down at the ground in front of me with little hope of a hand out. A young girl takes great care not to make eye contact. I sit at the railway station. I pull out my wallet. I make sure I remembered to put in some cash and confirm that I have the proper ticket; a folded pile of twenties is present, the ticket shows the time of departure is as I remembered it, the destination is correct. My suitcase is within easy reach under my seat, my guitar sits in front of me resting on the seat of my chair, between my legs. Leaving home is always hard but I’ve set up a tour that will keep me away for a couple of weeks, just one night stands, just me and the guitar. I’m homesick already. I wish I was home, just listening to music, thinking about whatever, with the love of my life somewhere near by. They’re calling out my train departure on the loud speaker so I snuff out my cigarette on the concrete floor, sling my guitar over my shoulder and pick up my suitcase. I’ll leave the magazine I never opened on the seat for the next guy. I find my seat on the train and sit back in a more comfortable chair as the train gains speed. Gazing out the window I know the next town will look a lot like this one but in the next town I’ll sing the songs I wrote and pretend this is what I want to do.