We were riding an N-Judah that went off the rails and flipped upside down onto a passenger platform. There was much screaming and bleeding and gnashing of teeth and the doors opened and a T-Third Street was waiting for us. We tried to send C a text message on paper to complain about our ordeals, but realized we’d forgotten her number and had left our phone at home. Then some ruffians harassed us and we sat down and two old women handed us a hundred dollar bill. The T-Third Street came up from underground and we looked at a city in ruins—buildings gutted and smoldering, bridges falling into the oily water. We got off the train at the park and found you amongst strangers and friends and veterans under a spinning tree. We played in the wind for a while and then boarded a strange RV and rode it out of town on empty roads. We were going camping. Or maybe to a music festival. You were packing a bowl of sticky greens and an annoying guy we knew once at Benning sat down next to us and smoked all your weed. We were heading smiling into the abyss.
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