Neti rested her head on the metal rim of the window, cooling her thoughts. She kept time on her knee with the beat of the train; no clickety-click, this was rap. She mentally repeated the words that had arisen in time with the rhythm.
“I was here, I was there, but I gotta go home
I was here, I was there, but I gotta go home
I was here, I was there …”
With her forehead now on the glass, she shifted her line of vision from the heady blur of the tracks to the slow passage of the horizon and back again. She felt that her life was more like the tracks: racing past her with little she could focus on. It hadn’t always been like that. When her dad was alive, she’d thought she could see past, present and envisage the future, but that had all changed in a single afternoon. How could so much chan
