Vanna White

Tracks were silent. No trains running that morning. Cars and trucks rolled over the steel with ease. He watched from the front porch. Semis going out towards the highway. Sounds like waves crashing though he was far from the sea. The distant cries of cars. Mufflers attached. Smooth sounding. But, no trains.

He wanted to walk on water. Had a Christ complex. Wanted to heal the sick and the lame. Had a desire to cure cancer. This was all talk. Had been his whole life. The old man just sits there, waiting on the train to come through. Listening to vehicles. Pretending.

See, in his mind he was married to Vanna White. She sat beside him on the porch. He’d reach out to hold her hand, but, it wasn’t there. Nothing was there. Just the sounds of the pretend ocean. While he waited on trains.

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