Trains, planes, and automobiles ...

... or, just trains.

I love trains. See the world. Meet new people. Chat up men in uniform (with whistles, nonetheless). All within an easy walk of a moving oasis of microwaveable foods and stale pretzels. Well, easy insofar as you're able to walk steadily forward in a car moving largely from side to side -- without doing a faceplant in that nice elderly gentleman's lap.

For all these reasons (in combination with my complete inability to drive through any form of precipitation), I decided to take the train yesterday to visit my college roommate who lives in Boston. Now normally when I take the train, I choose an empty row, allowing my attention to wander quietly from book to vista to half-dreams involving a bizarre interweaving of the two.

This time, however, I was rescued from my isolation early on by a woman with her two children who, thankfully, despite all the empty surrounding rows, chose to sit right next to me. Not only that, but I was treated to all of the intimate details of her life as she relayed them via cell phone to her husband, then mother, then friend, then boss (?!?), kindly repeating the stories of the day several times in case I didn't catch them the first time 'round. Said stories included the fascinating details of her laundry (it hadn't been done in a while); her dinner (to go out or stay in, decisions, decisions); and story to top all stories, her son's -- yep, the one seated next to me -- morning vomit (must have too much mucous in his throat). Sadly, she got off at Providence leaving me to fend for myself with just a book and a window to keep me company the rest of the way.