Riding The All Night Train

The seats are worn.  They have been patched with duct tape but even that has split leaving behind a gooey residue that smears the back of the thigh.  It was hot today.  I spent the last few hours lifting each leg off the torn leather seat.  My sweat seems to act as some sort of sticking devise so my thigh seems reluctant to part company with the seat.  A slow, wet, squelch greets my every shift.  But the evening has brought cool relief at last.  I press my head against the glass window and close my eyes.  In stories, trains seems to gently rock people to sleep.  But for me, I find the constant motion nauseating.  Rolling side to side and bumping up and down together makes my stomach ache and after 13 hours, there is nothing bucolic about this train ride.  I tell myself I am half way there but the comfort is slight at best.  Around me people shuffle and sigh.  A baby cries somewhere ahead of me and I want to join in.  But I'm too big for that now.  Instead, I grind my teeth, wrap my arms around my middle, and will the cool glass against my forehead to sooth the rest of my  body.