Waiting for the 11:40

It was Monday morning, and I sat with my pen, a notebook, and my bottle of vodka on a grassy incline leading down to the railroad tracks. The Amtrak train rolled through this spot several times a day, and I was making a schedule. I walked down to the tracks, taking careful measurements and calculating exactly where I would stand. I was trying to decide which train I would jump in front of the next day, ending all of my problems.