I go in to sign paperwork for a job opening at Station 143. The job is as a shuttle driver, transporting railroad workers to and from home. "Meet me at noon in the rail yard," says the voice on the phone. I don't really know where I am bound exactly, but I walk from my home for a stretch of limbs. Ten minutes after leaving my porch, I am crossing the tracks, following the railroad under the roof of the train station. A car would go down hill then up hill again, but I figure the way I am heading, if I just follow the tracks I am bound to find the office. Five, five line lizards scatter in the dry rocky terrain underfoot. It feels wonderful to be walking. I run through my mind the highlights of my personal narrative, my reasons for wanting the job. Mostly I am just interested in the story of the railroad workers. How do they feel on the train? Is it exhilarating or a just huge responsibility?

As expected, the office awaits me. I am ten minutes early, but one of the vans of the company I'd drive for rolls into the yard, so I approach the driver to ask him if this is the right place. He says wait a couple minutes and the boss lady should show face. Almost a heartbeat later, she rolls in in a black car. She hands me a packet of paperwork through the window. Drug test, background check, extensive application. The boss says I can go in the building and sit to fill it out. Inside, I interrupt a lively conversation to ask if there is a seat. It's a thrill to go in and feel the bustle of the office, with all the crew members talking about the train they then boarded. I am filling out forms, but glance up at the workers. They are all men except one woman who enters saying it is good to not be on a train. Two men discuss the "tonnage" of the train in the yard.

I feel I am somewhere entirely different, something of the trains of Harry Potter, how stepping into one of them can pull you out of the human world directly into a fantasy. Finishing up my papers, I am a bit self absorbed, and fail to notice the trickle of workers leaving the office, until the sudden moment of absolute quiet, when it is just the boss and me left behind. We are finishing things up, and she photocopies my identification, so it is not until I am standing outside the building that it becomes clear to me, the screaming sound of the train on the tracks, I see that all those people have pulled away to some Southern destination. I follow beside the train, as I head back homeward. Probably the same lizards scatter.

3AM the whistle blows again.