Member-only story
The Chance
On a train, writing a song, one that’s been rattling all night long.
The train is driving hard at the end of a chance, carrying the woman I met to the South of France, going elsewhere, another one looking for romance.
Wrapped in grey smoke, stood in the station, caring about nothing or hopes of salvation as she boarded the train after our innocent flirtation.
To happiness, pain, and other places, she boarded the train with two suitcases and walked down the platform, disappearing in a muddle of faces.
By now, her trip should be unfolding. Sunshine, sand, a little surfboarding. Topless in Nice, and all around her, young men are innocently gawking.
At the end of the world, or the end of my dream, at the end of the journey, is where I have been, rare fragrances. I’m leaving everything for my Brighton ice cream.
It was a chance, a dashing affair, a woman without a name and no underwear. Making love in the station restroom, listen, it was nowhere or there.
These chances come along, like a new poem by Bobby Joe Long, or One Direction singing a folk song.
It was just a chance, like asking someone to dance, but she never asked me to join her in the South of France.
