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Wednesday, 15 March, 2006

Monday afternoon I was trying to sleep. With the squealing tires, sirens, the perpetually blaring air horns of the Union Pacific trains, the distinctive sound of the Crown Victorias dodging pedestrians on the sidewalk … some afternoons make it impossible to sleep, even for someone who lived for years within the traffic pattern of the UPS Next Day Air hub.

To illustrate how jaded and self-centered life in the twenty-eighth state has allowed me to become, all I could think of two-ish Monday was how I wished the not unprecedented and seemingly compulsive blaring of the train’s air horn would stop. I never imagined that just this once it could possibly be more than the non-local engineer desperately trying to get the perpetually distracted automobile drivers the hell away from the tracks. I’m assuming the concern is the same overnight, as the horn use certainly is.

This one time, however, something was up. All I could do was sit here and grouse. I didn’t even entertain the idea until some time yesterday.

I hate what I’ve become.

Ha ha ha, Miss Deaf hit by the train … yeah but [insert pundit here] didn’t run into her dad at Hartnell’s Hardware.

I’ve said it before and I’m saying it again. What kind of society are we when the radio calls out, “It’s another motorcycle versus semi out on Highway [such-and-such] …” and we bitch about the inevitable traffic problems instead of grieving, if only for a moment, for another member of our pack.

As it turns out, I’m certainly no better.


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