taking the train is not nearly as hoboriffic as the movies make it look

The night before I left Chicago, I said I’d go out and have one drink with friends to say goodbye, maybe two. Literally 12 hours later, as the sun came up, I caught a train home, threw some shit in a bag and left for a month.

The train was an interesting experience, to say the very least. Sadly, I was too hungover to really engage, but somewhere around Little Rock, someone stood up and said “Food Swap?” and everyone in my car pulled out whatever they had to offer, elementary-lunchroom-style, and started sharing food. I threw in my shittiest snack, a chocolate chip Kudos bar, and cashed in on some gummy bears (yes, I am aware this just earned me the worst kind of karma). Then some old dude yelled at me for not being married, so I just stared at him silently while eating my (okay, his) gummy bears before passing out again.

Otherwise, the train was all good. I know people were getting restless after being in one seat for 30 hours, but I, on the other hand, was really relishing the opportunity to be really, phenomenally lazy for 30 hours straight.

(Do not be fooled by these photos of Saint Louis. They look majestic, it smelled like rotten garbage and skunked beer.)

After I arrived in Austin, one of my oldest loves, Zach came to pick me up! I didn’t take a picture, so just take this one of us from nearly a decade ago and add some facial hair. On Zach, too, I guess.