Somewhere on the impossible express, rolling through the trestles tunnels and mountains between El Centro and Mexico, rattling across the track of life. The words flow from my fingers, producing pixels and scenes, crimes and chaos, images of a death too soon or perhaps not soon enough. It is, after all, just a matter of… Perspective… and reflection, lost given that you’re alone now in the dark. You stole the ticket, took the ride, and where it goes, no one knows.
