His brother would just ruffle his hair and tell him that he’d understand one day. She wore the same school shirt that he and his brother wore, with the same school crest emblazoned on the chest. She had long black hair, like all the other girls. She had two eyes, like all the other girls. He’d only seen her once before, and he didn’t really understand. He just knew that the 11:18 was the signal for his brother to come home after he’d snuck out to see the pretty girl who lived across the tracks. The boy didn’t care about the businessmen, with their untucked shirts and angry wives. The boy did not yet know what “drunk” was, but he understood the disapproving sigh his mother would let out at the suggestion. The train that the boy’s father said was full of drunken businessmen going home. He normally hated the grinding, gnashing pulse of the metal monsters racing past his bedroom window. Through there, every now and again, he could hear the unmistakable metal thuds of the passing trains – rumbling teke-teKE, teke-TEKE, teKE-TEKE, TEKE-TEKE across the yard and over the fence. He would stare at the empty bed in the bedroom they shared, under the large open window in the eave. The boy hated the nights when his big brother snuck out.
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