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I have nothing to write about. That’s not true, I have lots to write about. The problem is that I don’t know where to start.
Let’s get on the train. That’s a good story.
So I’m on this Amtrak train; my first Amtrak long distance trip. I’m watching Friends on this portable movie thing they offered, and then my dinner session is called to eat.
Being along on my trip, they end up seating me with some other random people. I quickly feel like the youngest person in the whole car because… well, I am.
The three men I’m sitting with are talking about condos and car insurance and which community the other person lives at. They’re talking about golf courses and lobsters, the old days, and each other’s diseases and whatnots.
One of them said something about how “South Of The Border” is about 100 miles from Florence, South Carolina. Having lived in Florence, I correct him and tell him it’s no further than a 30-minute drive. I caught him off guard, and flustered him a bit.
Him: “Are you sure?”
Me: “I used to live there.”
Him: “Well in that case…”
I felt kind of bad, so after dinner I bid my goodbyes, then went back to my seat to watch “Batman Begins.”
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