They took the train. They took the train because it seemed like no one in America took the train anymore. They took the train because there was less security. They took the train because no one cared if you brought a drink on with you. They took the train because it seemed so utterly ridiculous that an early twenties couple, both of whom had access to private jets, yachts, and personal cars and drivers, would hop on a train in coach class. They took the train because they figured that no one would look for them there.
And no one did. They took the train wherever they felt like it. They would disappear for weeks at a time, much the chagrin of both of their sets of parents, siblings, and friends. Sometimes they rode the train to the absolute end of the line. Sometimes they randomly decided to hop off at a stop in the middle.
They ate many a processed and then microwaved hot dog. They drank soda by the two dollar and twenty-five cent can. Once or twice, they bought everyone who wanted one a beer.
Sometimes they sat in the louder carriages, and spoke to whoever was willing to talk, about whatever they wanted to talk about. Sometimes they sat in the quiet car, and didn’t even talk to each other.
All that mattered was they were together. They were together and in their own way they were alone. And above all, above everything else, they were in love.