The New Jersey Transit tears along its track, making an almost rhythmically steady sound. This will be a long commute, from Princeton Junction station to New York Pennsylvania Station. Attempting to amuse myself, I gaze outseide, at the tracks beside this train. THey are sometimes adjacent to a forest, sometimes a desolate city. Usually, the train tracks are lonely, amid nothingness. With each bar of the railroad passing by, a year seems to depart, some unknown milestone somehow achieved. I try to look at it, but all of it emerges into one smooth trail before my eyes. Was there a missing nail on the bar? Perhaps, a scar or a mark? The track has an end, somewhere, I think. I cannot see it, I do not believe that I ever will, but it must. No railroad could or should extend beyond its boundaries, I whisper. Perhaps it ends in Trenton. I cannot reflect on this railroad at all. The back of the seat somehow touches my back, and I allow myself to stay in this position. I can only continue to witness whatever we pass by. A group of children frolicking, a graffiti fence, a man smoking a cigarette, an old woman feeding her cats, the dead body of a shrew... . If I stop looking, I think that I will be shut off, inside this car, everyone around me going about their own businesses. Traveling along their own railroads.