Quiet Night

I live close to train tracks. So close that the quiet, paranoid voice inside me likes to point out that, if a train were to derail, I would be homeless -- or dead, if I happened to be in the process of making supper.

It's strange the things to which you can become accustomed. I didn't realize that there was a train going by until it had passed -- and the TV was blaringly loud. Seems I had turned it up to block out the steady rumble without realizing I had done so. "Tin Man" isn't a movie that needs extra volume (unless you're one of those people that prefers to watch with extra volume, which I am not).

I haven't been here that long -- two months and a few days now. Yet usually I don't notice when the whole house is vibrating for several minutes at a time.

Something about that just doesn't seem normal.

It's a Sunday night and all's quiet on the Wausau front -- except the trains, that is. It's different, living in a mostly-quiet town on a mostly-quiet street. RC is anything but, and even my parents' house rarely feels quiet. (I suppose that's because we're not a quiet family.) Here, though, things are quiet enough to be -- dare I say it -- dull.

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