Story

Train Tracks

John Newton rearranged himself on the railroad tracks. He was lying there for some reason or other. It was uncomfortable; a thick morning fog had drifted in from the sea. He felt very stiff. And damp. Chilled to the bone. How long had he been there? Several hours? What was going on? His head was like a blank piece of paper. He couldn’t think of anything. Numb with cold, he shook himself. Slowly, he sat up. A bottle of whisky, one-third full, lay at his feet. He reached over, opened the bottle, and took a large swallow. It burnt going…

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