I’m off. Five stops between here and New York’s Penn Station. The conductor sez that there will be 90 people getting on at News Haven. Shit, if I lived in New Haven I’d be getting outta town too.Providence: Let’s see if a bunch of goombahs come aboard. Yeah, I know. What a broad brush. Passing through the Providence canals now. I do like cities with canals: Lowell for instance. Every piece of concrete standing has graffiti tags on them. No Space Available.
Kingston (also in Rhody, appears to be a gravel pit in the middle of nowhere. The name matcheth not. Scraggly pine and thin, dying birches, flit along besides the train like the white lines on a highway. The occasional stone wall gives the appearance of civilization.
Ever wonder what it would be like to own a sand and gravel pit business? Me neither. Until now.
Passing through Mystic, Ct reminds me of the short vacation I spent here. One of those Christmas get-aways, with “authentic” re-enactments and stuiff. Trolley cars at midnight. That was a cold night. Today though, passing through, it’s a sunny day. The sun blazes off all the yachts in dry dock. Bright white light on white. America. And, yes. I had a slice.
Welcome to New London. You know, I’ve traveled extensively in Europe and Asia (I think of it as extensive anyway) – but I’ve never been to Olde London. I was purposely saving it as one of the less exotic locales to visit. New London has its boat yards as well. But more workmanlike. Fishing boats, rather than the more luxurious of the Mystic sail boats.
Old Saybrook. New London. Next up New Haven If it aint’ old, it’s new I guess. At least as far as Connecticut is concerned.
Although I have two books on my kindle, I’m not doing any reading on the way down. Maybe on the way back. I’m taking the opportunity to catch up on some music listening. Something that I don’t do enough of theses days. At least when I was running, there was that music listening time.