4
They scoot their way through five cars filled with people stowing their bags and luggage on the overhead racks. Men, women, kids, and folks of all varieties and ages. It’s a madhouse. Coffees in hand, they manage to get beyond them without causing an incident until they come to the engine.
“Follow me, Sam,” Maureen says.
Exiting the final car, the two head outside and onto a very short, very narrow exterior gangway to a metal door that accesses the diesel locomotive. Stepping inside, Sam feels like he’s entered not a locomotive, but instead, a submarine. The long, narrow space smells of diesel fuel; and the noise of the engine, while not deafening, is loud enough to drown his thoughts. Sam feels the powerful vibrations of the purring engine through the soles of his boots.
To his righ
