Locomotion

I was feeling particularly plucky after eating a heavily frosted cookie and braved the Woodland train yard, again. After waiting for a hooded young man to pass my chosen photo location, I carefully scouted under the cars for napping hobos. I determined it was all clear of fellow trespassers and conducted my photoshoot among the stopped train cars.


Shirt, Forever 21. Dress, Diane von Furstenberg (consignment). Bag, and shoes, Clark’s. Sunglasses, Meow Meow.

Last time I trekked to the tracks, workers were moving engines around, but that’s the only time I’ve seen official activity in the yard. Usually, I’m just dodging other miscreants.

Before I leave my car, I text Beefy and let him know I’m at the trains and about to take photos. If I don’t text again within a time limit we’ve set, he knows I’m in trouble. If I don’t feel comfortable, I leave without taking pictures at all.

I should stay away from the train yard, but I can’t resist its call. I’m enamored with the shapes, colors, and shadows. I even like the way it smells: odors of rust and grease.


Sweet, sweet courage: