I stayed up late to watch a train, headed to New York, the heart of Midtown.

I wished I were on it, headed to the Magic City, where people match money to talent, the world marvels at the sounds, the words, the pictures.

Can it happen in Richmond or Leesburg or Phillipsburg or Astor?

Maybe. But who looks there?

Like a monster in a Greek myth, reaching for me with tentacles, pulling me from the mast to which I’m lashed

This world is so safe , but it’s as tasteless as baby food. The cereal that’s mixed with formula.

Somewhere in Nairobi is the Weetabix factory that turns wheat into Weetabix. It’s like shredded wheat , only different. What would Jomo Kenyatta say, or those lean muscular distance runners who train at high altitude and then descend to sea level and whip everybody, usually white boys who want something to do before they go to medical school.

It’s just one of life’s mysteries.

I remember eating at McDonald’s on West Broad Street across from a Target and Barnes and Noble when I was in high school. None of those businesses were there in 1969. The land was rumored to be owned by a large spice company , based in Richmond.

I got my first Big Mac there

Tonight I am sitting in another McDonald’s, alone, with the 21st Century proletariat as my dining companions. A gentleman wearing a golf shirt is drinking a Coke, waiting for his order . Another white guy is doing business on his lap top. We have women of colour hanging waiting for their food . One woman is wearing hijab, has a little boy asleep across her shoulder.

This is America .I always imagined myself with a 1960‘s version of success wearing nice clothes, eating in nice places , living off the interest earned by my portfolio.

But here I am with the proles and the kids. Perfectly Happy.

It starts in Florida, somewhere. They are the first several refrigerated boxcars marked “Tropicana” on a freight train that also hauls containerized cargo, intermodal freight.

The Tropicana cars are headed toward New York, rather New Jersey, where they are cut off and broken down. Frozen orange juice concentrate and ultra pasteurized juice is then sent to all kinds of retail stores in several states.

I see the juice train and fancy the break down and redistribution of all that juice. I’m sure there’s grapefruit juice , maybe orange /pineapple blends, tangerine even, in the mix.

And it all ends up on store shelves.

Years ago, they made “industrial” films about trains and their cargoes that would explain what transportation was all about. That was before some smart people started talking about “logistics”. ( Probably to impress people they wanted to fuck.)

But that was the Old Days.

Box cars are disappearing, especially cars with railroad branding on them. Soo, C&O, Southern, Norfolk Southern, Seaboard, Atlantic Coast Line and, my favorite, Cotton Belt.

Next time you go the store, think about where that juice came from and how it got within your reach.

I’m sitting on the porch, noting that Americans, males, I suspect, drive large trucks. Do they haul stuff in them? Maybe. But if they ever have to, they will have them.

This is a country where we self-admit into Bedlam, And we keep enlarging it.

Another. Morning I got up after fidgeting between lying awake in bed and sitting up in my chair. There is a sadness in both places.

There is woman missing. My wife is sleeping. We should have insomnia together..

The temperature comfortable. The sun is obscured by puffy cumulus clouds. Rain is far off. Summer seems eternal, but we know better. My coffee is cold so I shall make hot coffee, look for a baseball game, perhaps softball.

Will text more later.

So I’m old, 75years, healthy. heterosexual, And haven’t had sex in over 20 years.

Oh and I’m married.

Need to have The Talk.

Is there time for me and what I need?

Prior to whenever The Supreme Court sanctioned Pornographic Movies, the male characters , many times, wore disguises, a mustache and goatee or an ill- fitting wig. They feared being discovered, and that promising career as a truck driver or plumber would be in jeopardy.

I know what you’re thinking, “Who cares?”

But you wouldn’t want your friends at the Elks Club smoker to think ill off you.

Surprising how many men were circumcised back then.