R.J.S. : This Cellophane Scene

This Cellophane Scene R.J.S.

There is something about this scene reminds me of a train whistle splitting oil gray nights of summer in a town maps have omitted.

The tracks bow and flex at the weight added to their own cars swaying back and forth empty, unnamed. Pushing ever forward colliding with the air in front of them the clacking in time like a headboard banging in some rented room forgotten like we forget the intrusion once the gates have lifted releasing us alone