Steaks On A Train

So rabbit man says I can go anywhere. Great. I love anywhere. So long as it isn’t Hull.

In between failing to hit any letter on the keyboard before resolutely trying again and again until I eventually damn well get there, I chose to go on a train. Why? Because trains are awesome. Trains move places, sort of like the blue box. That’s enough for me*.

I ordered steak. I like steak. It’s the swiss-army knife of the meat industry; no one can argue when it has so many damn options. That they have it on trains is a complete mystery to me, but what do I know? I’m the passenger. I ask and if it arrives, so be it. I don’t want to find out what happens if it doesn’t arrive. Maybe I get a stern looking-at. Who knows?

Thing is, though. I swear you don’t usually get steaks on a train. Usually a packet of walkers and a sandwich is the most you can aspire to, as a diner of the public-transport variety. You don’t get a damn steak. Something’s up with this.

I look at rabbit man. He looks at me back with an expression that suggests that if I stop calling him bloody rabbit man in print, maybe he’ll lend me a hand in the systematic chaos that is the Womble-thought-process. But I can’t. Not yet, see. I have enough problems hitting the right letter on a keyboard, let alone forgetting to call someone by a well-honed nickname. My mind can’t handle it. Thankfully, I’ve run out of rum. Rabbit man doesn’t know the last of it.

I half expect more aliens, besides the type that wears brown paint and calls it a tan, or the type that gets angry when you laugh at them. Steaks on a train feels normal enough, to be honest.

Maybe this’ll make more sense in the morning…maybe.



*As you may have guessed, Womble is in fact drunk at this point. This wasn’t so much an exercise in characterization as a complete and utter waste of cyberspace, but Womble did enjoy doing it nonetheless…this being said on the night of said-debauchery, and not the morning of the accompanying lesson in why you should avoid getting drunk enough to forget why you began drinking in the first place.


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