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He fell into consciousness like someone jerking awake at the wheel of a car.
That split second of not knowing when, or where you are. Except, that feeling didn’t leave Robert Dievs. It stuck around. And after a few minutes of waiting, he realized had no flippin’ idea where he was, or who he was. He remembered his name. Yes… Dievs… Robert Dievs…or no- Swiss? From…er- Waco. Wait a spot.
He was sitting on a bench in the middle of a train station. It wasn’t Grand Central, but it was pretty well done, he had to admit. Wait, have I been to Grand Central? He couldn’t remember. The ceilings were high and domed, with beautiful pastel paintings of biblical shit and pudgy, naked babies. Perty.
Diev’s bench was bolted to a raised platform, and just now a train was rolling in from the right. He turned his head to look at the incoming locomotive. Oof. A crackling sound exploded from his neck like he’d twisted a roll of bubble wrap. A little stiff. Goodness. The feeling was that good kind of pain. Like sore legs after a big run, or pinching off a big no-wiper.
The incoming locomotive was beautiful and terrible. The front face of the train was dominated by a mean looking black-iron cowcatcher and a singular round headlight. The station was brightly lit, but even under the strong fluorescents, Diev’s could see the headlight burning a…
