I woke early before the dawn.
First train.
It’s quiet.
Beat the commuters.
I’m travelling.
Moving.
Through the Scottish countryside.
Through the minutes, hours.
The day.
Sun comes up.
Splits the clear blue winter sky.
Darkness slips away.
The day holds promise.
Purpose.
I press play and the music bursts from my headphones.
Final destination can wait.
Tonight there’ll be music, songs to sing and old friends.
We are travelling.
We are moving.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
The train cuts through the countryside, over the high bridge over the river. Got that funny feeling in my stomach as I look over the edge.
Down, down, down.
All the way down to the river below.
Check the time on my phone.
Man out of time.
Or just in time.
Just about.
The sun setting down behind the town, the sky all oranges and blues. I look over at her, blonde hair tumbling down, headphones on, eyes closed, a little smile across her face.
Music.
Life.
A little hint of mystery.
I can hear the drums, electric guitar, the voice.
I look back out the window.
The light is fading and I find that I am looking back at my reflection in the window. My hair has grown out a bit. I don’t think I am ever going to be bald. At the hotel last night she laughed at me when I said I was worried I’d go bald if I got it cut.
But fuck it, if I went bald I would embrace it. Total bald head, Michael Jordan style. I’m sure he used to shave his head courtside. I told the missus I’d polish my head up so it shone in the lights. Just, why the fuck not.
But as it stands, I’m more like Robert Smith with a bird’s nest on my head. I don’t think I’m going to grow old like a Dapper Don. I don’t think I’m going to go out quiet. She told me I spend too much time in my own head.
A couple stumble by, smelling of booze. She’s calling him an arsehole. He’s trying to placate her.
“Donna, babe, Donna, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean anything.”
“You told her she had the best arse you’ve seen all day, Doug. I mean, fuck sake. I mean, first fucking question: How many arses have you been looking at all day?”
He stumbles on his words as they move up the carriage and out of earshot.
The old couple across from us are having a chuckle. The old fella looks over and nods his head and says:
“He’s sleeping on the couch the night..”
His wife perks up:
“If he’s lucky”
They both crack up laughing.
The ticket man wanders through. He looks distracted and just walks right past us.
I sit back. Pull on my headphones. Close my eyes and the band bring it home.
© Paul Andrew Sneddon
Inspired in part by this Johnny Cash song.
Paul Andrew Sneddon 