Notes
The freight train at the crossing
Forty wagons and nowhere to be. I counted every one.
Freja Ås
The barrier came down on my way home and a freight train came through, slow, heavy, one tank wagon after another. I turned the engine off.
I started counting. Forty-one. The driver waved from the front. I waved back, which I have not done since I was six.
What I wrote
In the notebook in the glove box: Tuesday, 17:20, forty-one wagons, one wave. I don't know why I keep these. I have a page of them now.
