The Sweat of the Brow (xxix)

 I guess I expected her to send me a code or write me a message in invisible ink. But I’m sitting by the window eating strawberries and bread, and the-corner-of-my-eye informs me I’ve been sent a rail ticket to Chicago.

I don’t know what to pack. I pack everything. Then I leave it all behind. I dress well but not too well and call for a pod.

Two minutes later I’m heading down the street at twenty miles an hour. A minute later I’m shuffled to an express bus and I’m doing a hundred miles an hour and there’s hardly a difference. Ten minutes later my pod is harnessed to a magrail, we wait a few minutes for departure time and then we get shot down the tracks at half the speed of sound.

We stop at Tampa and Tallahasse and Mobile. I get switched there to an express bolt, six hundred miles an hour. I doze off for an hour and wake up near Terre Haute. By the time I’ve stretched the kinks out of my neck I’m in Calumet City. My pod’s on the street, I’m heading for the water, doing thirty miles an hour again, watching the city go by.


~ by davekov on 2 December 2011.

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