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Color My Missives: a weblog

A Dilated Journey and Youth

“I’m still young,” I tell myself, plead with myself. Twenty-eight years has left that stain on my soul. I am no longer the new kid on the block, and, somehow, bragging that most of my friends are older doesn’t sound so cool when most of them are …twenty-nine. When he walked onto the train, I knew immediately that in spite of our age difference — probably just eleven or twelve years – we had something in common, youth. Not the youth that I saw in him – eagerly chatting away the ride on his cell phone—but a more profound, American Youth.

The Amtrak to Boston had been delayed out of New York. And though the extra thirty-five minutes on top of the posted ten minute delay had been annoying, they were nothing compared to the scheduled five o’clock train, which had been delayed three and a half hours. It was a Sunday, and pulling out of Penn Station on a rainy summer night felt freeing somehow, finally. The train was crammed. I sat next to a thirty-something who [...]

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Shadow's Ride Home

It was a Thursday, and that late September kind of hot that distinctly bears the scent of the cold months to come. The men sitting on the benches round the fountain let their eyes caress each young woman’s passing lightly as if grasping for with their eyes what they might be gasping for with their lungs — summer and the extra lilts of hair, swishes of skirts that it brings with it. An ex-debutante passed, in her late-fifties now and getting some late-season mileage out of her white pantsuit and oversized pearls.

The pragmatism of those passing [...]

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