Fugitives on the Run: Part 1

"If two people love each other, there can be no happy end to it"

-Ernest Hemingway

I stood at the edge of the train stop and gazed at the beautiful scenery. Battered old rusty train tracks, littered with beer bottles, fliers and the occasional half-joint, I’m pretty sure I saw a dream or two lying around there. It was comforting knowing that our lives relied on these rusty pieces of shit not falling apart, our future looked bleak. On the other side of the tracks was a flaccid chain link fence; its days of keeping conniving train riders at bay were over. The field it no longer protected was overrun by mutant weeds and a mysterious rectangular pond that was perfect for concealing corpses, firearms, babies or a combination thereof. The rundown motels at the end of the field were falling apart by the second, the occupants –most likely an assortment of hookers, drug dealers and politicians—weren’t doing any better.

I looked back at Lola…so were the two old pervs on the bench. She was trying to keep her skirt down while the wind did its best to reveal her well trimmed goods. To top it off the whole place smelled of shit, but there was not a turd in sight…Ahhh, New Jersey. I sat down next to her as the wind died down and their eyes went from her skirt to her cleavage.

Me: What time is it?

Her breasts are pretty fucking awesome

Lola: The scenery isn’t very romantic is it?

Me: Hahahaha, neither are we.

Lola: Yeah, I guess it’s a perfect fit then…the train is coming.

I put my arm around her and we both gazed at our disgustingly romantic spot. Cherry Hill, New Jersey. I can’t help but laugh when I think of that place. A terrible town in the worst state in the union, (Note: If you are from New Jersey I’m sorry, not for insulting it, but because you had to live there) but it was the only place we ever called ours. I could ramble on about our story, how we met, fighting the feelings, and the climax that every good story about a girl, but that’d be a waste of my time and yours, for now anyways. We go way back, as far as the eye can see, like rusty old train tracks. We’re still moving too, tracks leading towards somewhere where we can’t see. All I can tell you is about where we are, our little train stop, because that’s the only place you can really see.

We were sitting on the train, talked our way on with only one ticket, the cleavage helped. We took a seat and I started playing with her skirt.

Me: These designs look like fireworks.

Lola: I know…

Me: I like this one, it’s very Shazam.

Lola: Really? I think this one’s better.

Me: Fuck no, check out the color design and size on this one, it’d kick the other one’s ass

Lola: Haha, you wish.

At least she was laughing. I think I might actually miss this one.

Me: I want to kiss you so bad right now.

Lola: …