I never know how far the tracks here go. I get about a mile outside of town, feel the humming through my sneaker soles, then plummet down the long graveled track ballast. The grinding of steel against steel shaking my chest, as you make your appearance. Someone must’ve thought you were a hell of a girl, Evie, when they spray-painted your name on the side of the train car. They tucked you in about ten or eleven deep, not even the conductor gets the last word pulling the horn. Imprinting yourself on the eyes of everyone stopped at the crossing. Getting a glimpse of the way people live here, passing the false fronted buildings on the square, the used car lot no one has credit to buy from, the plastics complex funneling free radical-white into the sky, the plywood shacks behind stray cats in their garbage can mansions, and the children gathering river water to boil, the same water everyone swims and pisses in. You’ve been everywhere. No one here knows what lies beyond, if there’s a heaven full of homes with air conditioning, and fridges full of unspoiled beer, and spoons that are only used to lap up cereal bowl milk and nothing else. You're a stranger to me, but it seems it mattered enough to the artist to paint an entire row of gold glittering rays pointing skyward E to E because they wanted you to know how much they cared, or maybe they were saying no matter how dark it gets you can always find your way home, or perhaps it was all a big to-do, for us.