February 28, 2021 February 28, 2021 “One thing about trains: it doesn’t matter where they’re going. What matters is deciding to get on.” —Conductor in
There’s this park near my house. At least, the residents of Pittsburgh’s Mexican War Streets call it a park, affectionately if a little generously. It’s really just a moderately sized rectangle of unremarkable grass, bisected by a patchwork of cracking concrete paths, circumscribed by busy city streets. Right in the middle of the park, gutting it, sit these train tracks—you can’t miss them. They’re these old, rusty things, and every now and then an old, rusty train comes along, hauling its coal or its scrap metal or whatever. It rattles its way along the tracks, an awful, cacophonous screech booming up from the rails, making it really hard to focus on your walk.