Morning brings ground fog, low to the ground and drifting west to east. It burns off quickly with light from both the East and reflected windshields. I wish my memory was that quickly dissolved. Instead it is reminds me of the train tracks that run behind the apartment complexes on the western edge of town. Unused, unmaintained and steadfast. Remaining just to remain. Overgrown weeds and stolen ties don't deter them. They are here for the long haul.
On the way home, I search for an ATM and find one in the center of a darkened parking lot. A small oasis of light in the black concrete plain. I wonder why there is not music coming from the little machine and I wish for some Chopin or Debussey. A small refrain would be enough.