You move with devastating slowness. How can you not hear it? Instead of stepping off the tracks, you turn to look at me, and I’m screaming and screaming, “There’s a train coming!!”
And I wake up in a cold sweat, my legs cramped and my lungs devoid of air. As the seconds turn to minutes I relax. It’s got to be the taco I ate for dinner. There’s always a trigger*.
*Author’s note: “Slowly I turned…” is a reference to a series of old comedy sketches. Worth the Google search if you’re not familiar with them.