Tara and I were taking a walk. As far as walks go, she is very fond of them, while I could do just as well without them. We were walking along the trail at this very thin park just west of our apartment. That is, it starts just west of our apartment, and then continues north for several miles, never more than 60 or 70 yards wide, and often much thinner. It runs directly alongside the water, and would, if this were the east coast, or California, be called a beach, though it's hard to conceive of a name less apt. We tend to wind up walking in this park mostly because of its proximity, and its shape prohibits any kind of "round trip" approach. That is, however far you want to walk into the park, you must walk to get out.

This particular walk, we found ourselves far enough into the park that we decided we were just as well off walking to the home of a friend who lived not too far from there. This was impeded by another peculiarity of this park; its designers were not keen on entrances or exits, especially for those who were intending to walk back to the street. The condition was aggravated by some construction on a nearby office building that had rerouted the pathways. We set out on a road alongside a trainyard. We were promised it would lead us to a parking lot, and then the street. We were in no way prepared for the length of the road to the parking lot.

The road we walked was actually not far from the street we sought, but the stationary train cars and barbed-wire fence were a bit of an impediment. As we traveled along the road, the trains called to us. "There's no one working" was their Siren call. "It's totally safe." Finally, not long after the end of the trainyard came into sight, I decided to do it. I climbed up one of the dusty red ladders, and pulled myself upon the surface of the train. It seemed at the time that the train had grown quite drastically since I stood along the tracks, but this was not the time to worry about matters of perspective.

I looked at the car opposite my own. I had suspected that all the cars in this yard were identical, and I found that this was all but true. The exceptions lept out at me as violent contrasts of black and yellow. Again I looked at my target. I glanced at the metal grating I was standing on. I ran a step or two and lept. The split second I spent in the air my mind contained a single thought. "Just like Indiana Jones."