I've been on this wagon for years now, wandering the countryside, searching for my meaning in life. Every few miles stopping to fix a burnt out light or mend some twisted track. This small 6x16 platform is all I know, with a few ladders and tools and a small balcony that swivels around. I sometimes like to pretend that I'm gazing upon a seaside village from this yellow balcony, watching the waves crash in as the fishermen head out early in the morning.
Instead, I know that this small cart will be my lot in life. My partner, identical to myself, spending the best years of our lives wandering the abyss of train track.
The weird thing is that he looks just like me, identical in every way. I sometimes wonder if he is merely a figment of my imagination. Does he really exist? Has the toil of fixing tracks and lights along this expanse of railway warped my mind, much like the warped tracks I fix daily?
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