a logscribble by hvincent

The sun rose before I noticed. I have a vague memory of the underside of my jacket, occasional surfacing for fresh air. The conductor announced an hour and a half to Chicago; I peeled back my hood to look out at a thin blanket of snow over Indiana. Oil fields and casinos.

I've been strict with myself about eating meals properly, taking the time to walk down to the cafe car and set myself up at a table. There's more snow in the vestibules, four crossings to make while I'm still shaking out the train-sleep cramps.