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Time can feel layered.

A copy of a copy.

A train to Nowhere.

Even now, as you sit wherever you are at this moment, you can become aware of the dissonance. Be careful not to let your suspension of disbelief slip; side effects can include discomfort among other symptoms.

Welcome back, Reader.

Corstrom finds himself in his seat, computer on his lap, headphones in, mind racing as he works out his final bits of code.

Run program.

Looks good.

He looks across the car and out the window.

——–

I looked up and immediately got the feeling that there were more people here the last time I glanced up from my work. Talk about engrossed. Heh.

I’m drawn to the sprawling space beyond the glass across from me and I gaze out the window.

——–

As the train chugs along, leaving behind another bustling cityscape, I find myself lost in memories of a bygone era. A summer spent in the wilderness of the mountains, working alongside a man who went by the name of Danny Drunko. The moniker suited him well, for he was rarely seen without a can of beer in hand. His home, a diminutive tin can nestled amidst the towering trees at the end-of-an-end of a dirt road, mirrored his personality – unassuming yet filled to the brim with character.

The sight of empty cans strewn across the floor, spilling out of the entrance like a waterfall of tinkling aluminum, upon opening the trailer door had become a familiar one. It wasn’t an eyesore, rather, it felt oddly comforting and seemed to make sense for Danny. An indicator of the carefree lifestyle we had both embraced during those fleeting months.

Despite his apparent lackadaisical attitude towards cleanliness, or perhaps because of it, Danny possessed skills beyond ordinary comprehension. With a mere two cuts, he could bring down a 75-foot pine tree so precisely that it would land perfectly within a six-foot gap. All this while maintaining an air of nonchalance, albeit he was usually drunk; nevertheless, he was never once seen exerting himself unduly on the saw. There was something almost poetic about watching him work, each motion calculated yet effortless, guiding the roaring metal beast as though it were an extension of his own body.

In retrospect, entrusting such dangerous machinery to someone prone to inebriation might seem foolhardy. But somehow, under the influence, Danny Drunko transformed into a focused artisan, capable of felling many a tall timber. Maybe the alcohol helped numb the fear or heightened his focus; whatever it was, it worked.

——–

As the landscape outside my window transitions from urban jungle to rural serenity, I am reminded of the myriad unique experiences with the rest of the quirky cast of characters that fills my past. Each memory brings forth chuckles, smiles, even moments of profound introspection. For better or worse, these experiences shaped me, teaching valuable lessons about resilience, adaptability, and the beauty of imperfection.

Our differences, in fact who we are, make us, right?

Now, feeling hundreds of years removed from that cozy summer in the trees, I realize how fortunate I am to have crossed paths with individuals like Danny. Their eccentricities, flaws, and idiosyncrasies make life interesting, adding color to the otherwise mundane existence. And every now and then, when I least expect it, they pop up in my thoughts, reminding me of where I came from and propelling me forward on this journey.

Where is he today? Where am I? Is he still alive?

Am I?

We’re all travelers after all.

I’m jostled to my senses as a carefree girl sits down next to me. She didn’t sit, but rather arrived. And her arrival, not gentle.

She glances up at me, then away, seeming to be lost in thought. I can’t tell if she noticed me or not. She seems unbothered and has a gentle ease to her face. I can’t tell how old she is. The tesseract can be unforgiving at times, but also familiar. She seems familiar. Purple. Huh.

The train continues its rhythmic progression, carrying me further away from the concrete jungle and closer to the verdant landscapes of my past, my thoughts lose focus and I feel sleep overtake my mind.

——–

“The program is running at this point,” Corstrom thinks to himself hazily, “I’m just waiting at this point. I wonder how long until the Nexus? I’ll look in a few…” he assures himself as he fades off.

I’m glad you came back for story time, Dear Reader. I hope you enjoyed this one. The telling was different. And what was said was important.

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