I have not yet stopped at Catersville,
because there's no stop there. Everything
around that bend just disappeared. I can't
remember saying what - the morning was
fair, that I recall. A few guys were cutting
trees - the usual Mexican chap-hounds, with
grinny smiles and a loud saw or two. Making
voracious noise to supplement their death and
destruction. Minimum-wage murderers,
or at least I hope.
I then entered the Canarsie line, for lack of
anything better to do. This way that, and that
way this - boy was I confused. Some
pick-axe eating pizza on the bench.