I missed the 18:12 and I would like the record to show that I did it with my eyes open. There was a dinner that would not survive a delay, and a friend who had already laid the forks as if punctuality were a love language. I watched the train leave and felt the small theatrical sadness one is supposed to feel, and then I bought an apple and walked. Please do not print this as a lesson about slowness. It is only a correction. When I wrote last that I was sorry to miss the connection, I was being polite to the idea of the train. I was not sorry. The dinner was ordinary and exact, and the gravy was the right thickness, and I was in the chair I had said I would be in.#
This is an excerpt. The complete piece is in the print and digital edition of Issue 03.