I was #2 in line to board. At SLC, one gets the ticket scanned by the mass transit railing, crosses the mass transit “Front Runner” tracks, then walks up the concrete incline to the platform two feet above the freight tracks. The Amtrak trains, east and west, both pull up on the outside of this platform, with additional freight tracks to the outside of that track.

The assistant conductor scanned me and gave me a seat check for Emmeryville. The Conductor told me, “Last car, the 510, just past the 511,” which is the other coach car, the one with the lower level seating for gimps. As I walk past the dining car, I see a tall, black man, with dignity beard and captain’s cap holding court, being worshiped by three white passengers, all men, polite fellows, all now certain that they are not the most evil being on earth, “a racist.” The black man might be in a uniform. But it is one I do not recognize. He yells to the young fellow ahead of me, “Did the conductor tell you which car?”

The young fellow answers. Then, the man eyes me, my bald head, white beard, and yells at me, “Did the conductor tell you what car?”

He knew he had, had seen that conversation happen. If I satisfied his loud vanity and raised my voice enough to be heard, I would experience extreme pain in my eye and jaw. So I nodded, “Yes.”

This would not do, and the man yells louder, though I was closer, and I see he has an Amtrak name tag on, it turns out he is the diner attendant, the guy that runs the diner, “Did the conductor tell you which car!!”

I nodded again, smiled, and raised my ticket and he yelled, “Oh, he can’t talk!” his tone suggested he did not believe it, and that I was snubbing him for some reason, the OBVIOUS, ONLY, MOST EVIL reason.

It was breakfast time. I should be able to get something to eat, so went to that car as soon as we were off. The car was partially full with sleeper car passengers—as there were three sleeper cars. One more, and they would not have to feed us scum in coach. I opened my mouth to ask, and sure enough, Old School was in my face, “Oh, we are not ready to deal with you coach people yet!”

I went out into the cafe car, went downstairs, ordered two egg cups and two coffees, got the coffee on the house for the 8 hour delay, and went upstairs, sitting at the only table that had but one patron at it, a small, cute person, facing the dinning car door. I slid in with my back to the dinner car and the woman said, “Oh, good morning,” and I looked up and waved.

As I began to eat, the dinning car door opens and the boss of eating said in silky sweet Motown tones, “Oh, darlin’ it is time for you o eat.”

An hour later he comes out with a pen and pad and asks everyone if they wanted a complimentary breakfast. He came to me and I looked up, giving him a thumbs up. He said, “That won’t do—I need to hear it.”

I raised my voice to a hoarse, whispering rasp and said, “Sure.”

He then snapped like a black mamba, “See, I KNEW YOU COULD TALK!” victory against racism in his voice.

When I came and got my covered dish, I rasped, “Thank you,” which was so hoarse he could not hear it, and he turned his back on me.

The irritating Chinese traveler, the Old Prophet who knew the trains, and who I noticed had a hitch in his step from some accident, sat with me to eat, and spoke, I nodded politely “Yes,” to him, but made no conversation.

Come free lunch time, Old School announced, “I will be roaming the train having that conversation about complimentary breakfast.” I decided now, that I would eat no more, indeed had enough already, with two helpings of eggs enough for two days. He came to the last coach, looked down at me, looked away, and asked every person but me. Later, when he got on the intercom, he said, “If, I Say IF WE—you and me—had that conversation ‘bout a complimentary lunch, come and get it.”

He was waiting for me, to turn the conductor against me, and I never showed.

At the train platform at RENO, he tried eye fucking me while I walked and exercised, but got bored and went inside. The tall black doll who is the coach attendant and does a very good job on the bathrooms, stood by Coach 511 the entire time. After I was done my fifth set of squats and stretches, some distance down the platform from her and the rest, she clapped, and cheered, “If I wasn’t so lazy, I’d ask you to lead us in exercises,” she cheered, as the various smokers clapped and puffed. I waved and went to the hamstring stretches.

When I went for the last round of walks, past the thinning smokers, a cute older lady, thin and lithe, with a teacup Yorkie whose hair she brushed like a queen, said, “May I approach?”

I looked at her and the 4-pound beast in her arms and said, “If it is alright with your owner.”

She laughed, “Her name is Gem. Might I say, sir, that you demonstrate remarkable flexibility and fitness for an adult, especially for a man your age…”

We had a pleasant conversation about flexibility, her past as a ballerina and double hip replacement surgery. I never asked her name, assuring her I was a bad man and deserved my crippled state as we boarded.

I feel like such a crud declining to talk with people and declining to get to know people who I slip up with and speak to. But I have books to write and with the eye and brain failing I need to cut projects and decline to begin more. So many lonely lost folks take the trains that are failing as quickly as my humanity that I am eager to quit traveling so much and hide in places of soft darkness…

By the time we arrived at Emmeryville, at 3:30 AM, end of the line, Old Prophet wants to Uber with me, but I look to the lady running the station, a pretty and pleasingly fat, woman of the sable race, who informs him I want a bus. I was the only one with the patience for the bus, which meant a two hour wait in a station inhabited only be me and HER AMPLE GRACE.

While in the east, canceled lines cannot find buses or drivers. In California, 4 empty buses await, drivers scheduled to arrive 5 minutes before departure. California has a better rail system than USA, could be its own nation it seems. The driver who arrives is a super cute, friendly, Latina/China doll, a 95-pound exemplar of her hybrid charms, who is strong enough to sling my 39-pound suitcase like it is a purse.

California agrees with me.