“Nobody’s going to want to sit on high-speed rail for fifteen hours to get from New York City to LA.”
Me. I will sit on high-speed rail for fifteen hours. I’ll sit on it for days. I’ll write and read and nap and eat and then do it all over again. I’ll stare out the windows and see America from ground level and not have to drive. I’ll see the Rockies and the deserts and cornfields and the Mississippi River and your house and yours and yours too. I’ll make up stories in my head about the small towns I see as we go along. I’ll see the states I’ve yet to see because driving or flying there is a fucking slog and expensive to boot. I’ll enjoy the ride as much as the destination. And then I’ll do it all over again to come the fuck home.
Me getting slammed with notifications on this post in particular:
:)
I used to love going to San Diego for Comic Con by train. I’d start in Chicago, take a train that would take two or three days of bimbling through lower Illinois and Texas and New Mexico and I’d get to LA and then a commuter train to San Diego. I’d meet thousands of people in San Diego and then I’d get on the train in LA and go up the coast and then head East and spend another day or two decompressing until I got off in Minneapolis St Paul. It was the best time of the year. Sometimes I’d write and sometimes I’d stare out of the window.
