I don’t know why, but I love the cries of a lonely train in the middle of a night like the cold one peering into my covered windows. Hearing that siren blare in the far black distance gives me some reference, some comfort that that little train is just as lonely as I am, wandering through the thin film of night. The conductor has no interest in the train, instead in the cargo it holds. How I empathize with you little train, and yet I am envious.
You have someone waiting for you at the end of your journey to and from your home. And even on your lonely venture, you can still cry into the night, and everyone will hear and know your name. Maybe you aren’t as lonely as I am, but for the time you are gone, I know you and I are one. Should we be friends, or should I stay a distant and secret admirer?