One evening, the train from Washington, DC to New York slowed to a near stop. We crept along for 10 minutes for mysterious reasons.
Then, I looked out the window.
There was the Camden Track Runner.
Or at least, that’s how I thought of her.
We were creeping past Camden, NJ. Camden is a city that was left to die. Or maybe more accurately, left to kill itself. Each year, this place is in contention for “Most Dangerous Place in America” status.
And there was the runner. Barefoot. Running full tilt. There didn’t appear to be anyone chasing her.
The tracks are those for the Acela, the “high speed” (by U.S. standards) commuter train.
Was this her way of getting from one place to another? Was this exercise? Or was this the activity of a troubled mind? Maybe all of the above. I’ll never know unless I see her again.
Maybe I’ll see if we can stop and ask.