Whoever said rail travel is romantic must be used to spending Valentine’s Day picking out toe jam and watching professional wrestling. I honestly don’t know why I thought my Amtrak exertion from NYC to Springfield was going to be interesting- maybe I’ve been watching too many documentaries about the railroad barons or something. Instead of snow covered Vermont vistas and yuppies skating on frozen ponds, I’m treated to rural back yards filled with trash heaps, ramped rottweilers and rusted trampolines. It does makes sense I guess. Why would the train go through the best parts of town anyway? Just another example of how the rich get esthetically richer and hobo’s get a nice wake up call in the middle of the night from a blaring train whistle. No wonder they’re always agitated. Hell, I’d stab my skankie travel companion with a home made shiv too if I were that sleep deprived. The conductor just announced no more stops from Stanford to Penn Station. Say it isn’t so! All my Christmas’ coming at once and now I’ll only be 10 minutes late for dinner in the city. The train just lost all power and we’re just coasting ever so slowly by another bum encampment on our way to complete stop. If I were them I’d hop the train, take over the cafe car and gorge myself on stale pretzels and lite beer. Hey, what I’m I thinking? I just might have to defend myself if I ever want to see my children again. I look in my backpack for a weapon and all I can up with is the power cord to my iMac. I hope they show mercy.