To borrow from a classic Robyn Hitchcock album title, I often dream of trains. Recurring themes include waiting for a train that never arrives, missing the train, getting on the wrong train, or getting off at the wrong stop. In last night’s dream, the latter occurred, so I tried get off at the next stop and board the same train in the opposite direction. I wish I had a dollar for every time this happened in the ten years I spent commuting into and out of Boston. Given that my subconscious clearly wanted to have some fun with me, however, it wasn’t quite that easy.
For one, only a single car was able to exit at the platform. Fortunately I was riding on that car, but that’s where my good fortune ended. The station was dark and cramped, and when I exited to the street level, it was a muddy back alley that abutted a very active junkyard. There was no evidence of a subway entrance anywhere, but the first order of business was to avoid getting run over by speeding tow trucks.
When I got to what resembled a city street, I tried doubling back to where I thought a station entrance might be. The street was dark and deserted, the sounds of the junkyard fading away with each step. I turned toward a nondescript office building located where I surmised a subway station might be. Leaning against the lobby doors, I was surprised to find them unlocked. Walking into an well-lit hallway, I saw a sign that clearly read “elevator to subway”. Bingo!
Taking the elevator one floor down, I exited to find myself in the lobby of an upscale hotel in Naples, Florida. It was sunny out, and my wife was there. She was expecting me.