This trip I took with my roomate to a town halfway between the coast and the city I live in. A small rural town hiding under enormous trees composed of people on the brink of desolation, wary and resentful in their eyes. We had discovered a layup that wound its way into the woods, tracks littered with occasional shotgun shells and beer cans. Waiting for the train to drop off some boxcars in the shimmering afternoon sun, it must have been behind schedule. Walking deeper into the woods under the canopy which folded together high over the converging tracks, sitting down on an embankment to drink talk and take in the surroundings. So we started climbing up this tree that was perhaps four stories high, he went up first and quickly was lost in the rustling of branches way above all I would see were things he tossed down every now and then. I was halfway up at the edge of my comfort with heights and self confidence, it was all swaying in the summer wind smelling fresh of pine sap on my hands letting my mind wander away the hours. The train never did come that day. Later in the evening Mac descended swing around the branches with an unnerving ease, we gathered our gear and walked back down the tracks trying as ever to make our strides match the irregular spacing of the ties.

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