Our annual winter support keeps the Rail independent, relevant, and free
Rounding the side of the car, a body, the familiar angle of the windshield, the slope of the dashboard, the seat fabrics divisions, the shiny haunches over the wheels, the saggy loop of the seat belt, the parts and the shape of this body so known it becomes nondescript, not there, nothing, a backdrop, a stage.
You wait, looking down the tunnel, the inside curve of its throat, fixing the spot where the light first spreads, your knowing the beginning flash, how it will push along the wall. Or your looking for a hard line of light sliding on the metal track towards us, soundless, an influx of cold air excitedly shifting in front of your body.
After we had gone through a revolving door, we stood on the still-lit sidewalk crowded with pedestrians. I like revolving doors because of the silent negotiation with the person on the inside if you are outside, or vice versa, about when we put our bodies in.