I used to love trains. Everybody said so. They called me the Jew kid they always saw sitting by the Krakow train yards watching the trains come and go. I went there whenever I could, sneaking out of school whenever could, always scolded later by momma when I got back to the schule. I loved the way the wheels moved, show at first, like some great beast gathering strength before a leap, the chug, chug, chug of the coal-burning steam engine and wheels struggling to drag away the rest of the train. I even loved the way the black soot settled over me, filled with sparks I always saw as eyes, living beings staring out at me from some unimaginable darkness. I breathed deep air scented in coal and grease, a smell poppa hated because we had to breathe it in all day, living as close to the tracks as we did. When I was very young I sat at the tracks side and dreamed of all the places those trains might take me, counting down the months, hours, weeks and days to when I would be old...
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