16
Wrong TrainUnkle Traktor and Aunt Georgia took me to the old Penn Station, a new-world imitation of the Baths of Caracalla and the Gare d'Orsay. Hundreds of kids bound for summer camp appeared and disappeared in the shafts of sunlight as they waved good-bye and traipsed down the platforms to their trains. I threw my duffel bag over my shoulder, grabbed my guitar case, and joined the herd. Some children cried; others never looked back. Some parents cried; others planned lunch and longer vacations. Anxiety, excitement, and unclear track assignments filled the terminal.
From the beginning, nothing on the train seemed right. Many of the girls sported bobbed noses and the boys' haircuts were measured and fashioned, not just mowed short for the hot summer. Their pastel shirts seemed far to
