When I woke up, the prisoner behind me was gone, and the train was full of people. It was as though the madman and his laugh were all part of a dream. I had planned to take the train back home to Chicago, but on the next stop I decided to get out to stretch my legs and get a bite of food. Train dinners were always too expensive with too little flavor.
I walked off the platform and into a diner, where I saw a curious-looking man with a shaggy, dirty dog. Despite the dirt, the dog seemed to hold itself with an air of grace, leading me to want to pet this stranger's animal. Instead, I sat down next to the man at the counter and ordered a plate of fruit and waffles. The dog was pawing at the man's leg, when the man looked down and said, "No, Charley, you had your birthday flapjacks yesterday," with a great affection and smile in his voice.
"Hello, sir. You have a beautiful dog," I said, neglecting to mention the unkempt nature of the creature.
"Yes, and he knows it too," he smiled, ruffling Charley's ears.
"Where are you two from?"
"New York. We're traveling, wandering around."
I laughed. "I'm a wanderer too. I have no idea where I'm going, though I should probably get back home soon."
The man was on his way home as well; he was on the return leg of his journey. After our meal we walked out together and he showed me his truck. It was not just a truck, but rather a wondrous truck-house contraption, like an RV but smaller and more homey. I found myself judging the man a little bit; he had clean, if odd, clothing, but poor Charley looked like he'd been rolling around in mud. Oh well, there was not much to do about it. The man was headed north like I was, so instead of catching the train up like I had planned, I hopped into the truck and it bounced along, taking both of us closer to home.
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