He feels important on trains, and takes them when he can. He does not speak because he knows important people do not say much, so he keeps quiet among the quiet and wonders why train whistles make him feel lonely.
He lives in a house that sits clustered amongst similar houses, each painted a different color, but their shapes are all more or less the same. They remind him of people - more or less the same, but with different colors. He drives a foreign car because it makes him feel like he lives somewhere else.
One time he vacationed atop a mountain. There were no trains up there, but he found trees, blanketed with snow. Another time, he went to the ocean. There were no clustered houses, but he saw waves, foamy at the top just before they broke. Both reminded him of white smoke punching from a train, which made him think of train whistles in the wintertime, which made him feel lonely.
When his train pulled into the station, he walked onto a platform teeming with faces that seemed more or less the same. They reminded him of the houses in his neighborhood. He made his way through the moving mass until he caught sight of his reflection in a glass door. In the reflection, he saw a smock of white hair, and he thought of the waves, foamy at the top just before they broke. He wondered if he was about to break, too. Then he remembered that he forgot his suitcase on the train, and watched as they both pulled away with a whistle, but this time, it was different. This time, the train whistle did not make him feel lonely. He looked back at his reflection, and smiled.
Foster Trecost began writing while living in Italy and continues today from Philadelphia. Paying jobs had him working within various aspects of corporate tax, but he left that life last year to spend the summer back in Italy. His work has appeared or will appear in Elimae, Pequin, decomP, and The Linnet's Wings, among other places.