Ridin' the Rails pt. 1

In the humid heat of summer, the rusting train tracks, metal sheds, and shipping containers stashed among dense vegetation growing forth from swampy puddles outside the window of the Amtrak from Penn Station, New York to 30th Street Station, Philadelphia through the depths of New Jersey trick suggest I'm much farther south, among the ominous swamps and crossroads where one might expect to barter with demonic entities. Just past the trees, weeds, and creeks, a familiar vibration of ritualized consumption hums along, yet in this tiny, shrouded sliver, time and decay are in control. It's difficult not to wonder why no benevolent authority has ordered the removal of these unsightly metal beams, these decrepit shacks, as difficult to imagine a world so close to home spiraling on without oversight. What induces this desire for control? Perhaps the designs that govern our lives so often attempt to obscure the passage of time, and any reminder leaves us no alternative but to squirm.

Adding "pt. 1" to the title is aspirational. Really I'd like to remind myself to look out the window every once in a while.