We had recently moved into an apartment only a block away from an elevated train track. At times, the trains roared loudly, as if surging through our living room. Sometimes the train’s rattle was subtle, like a gurgling brook. Sometimes we didn’t hear the train at all.
One night, a few weeks ago, I got home very late from work. All of the lights were out in the apartment. On the kitchen table, I saw a cigarette still smoking in an ash tray, though I didn’t see Triny, my wife. I figured she must have just gone to bed. I undressed, closed the lights and settled into bed. Continua a leggere