Grandma Hits the Cinders

SITTING precariously on top of a manifest freight train, high-balling through Arizona, I was completely absorbed with the problem of a drink: how to drink from a pint and still clutch madly at the cat-walk I straddled. I was terrified. It took mental and physical maneuvering, a devil-may-care about-face and--you guessed it, I drank heartily, throwing all caution to the hot, dry winds.