Not Burning Man

"Train was on fire. I got off." I was comforted to receive this text from Scott yesterday when I was waiting for him to come home. At least he wasn't on the burning train... anymore.

Scott squeezed his way onto the train at the tail end of rush hour. Reaching his long arm over the heads of nearby passengers he grabbed the nearest crossbar. The train departed for the next station with a jerk that settled into a steady rocking back and forth similar to an elephant ride. The usual scream of the brakes announced that they had arrived at the last station in Manhattan. He noticed a wave of people walking past from the end of the train, unusual, since typically people who rode the train at this point were headed to New Jersey. The scent of smoke wafted in through the open doors. A hot, metallic, industrial scent with hints of burning plastic mixed in. Looking more closely he could see a gray haze and he turned to follow the departing passengers. Midway through his saunter toward the exit, the crackle of a station announcement told him that there was a fire in the station (perhaps this should have been mentioned earlier?) then the crackle of the intercom faded into indecipherable mumbles that may have announced a train delay. The conductor announced throughout the train that he'd be moving the train and anyone going to NJ should be aboard. So Scott stepped into the nearest door. Before he could look around for a hand hold his mind sped through the implications of all he'd just witnessed. He decided that the evidence indicated a flaming train and he didn't want to be trapped beneath the Hudson river aboard such a machine. As the double bell sounded it's usual door closing ding dong he slipped out of the train and made for the exit and the fresh, if it can ever really be considered fresh, air of New York City.

Just a day in the life folks. Bet you wish you were here.