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I can remember at minimum 100 times, as a kid, being raised up just south of the tracks, when Russell and me would be dashing for our lives, or so we would dream up. The freight yards blended with all kinds of people and trucks, mostly lingering to get loaded with all the products that came off the trains. There was a lot going on all over this place, at least for most the day, to keep a hundred guys hoping making a living.

Russell’s dad was one of them and my pops used to be also. The train air horns from the locomotives would echo in a sequence of blasts and the trucks wouldn’t be far behind, as if to say yea, yea we hear ya. I always imagined if those series of musical air horns blasting from the trains was signal for anything, or just some irritating wake up call to stir the dock workers.

You know, I mean, they spent a lot of minutes speaking about what must have been big time stuff until those air horns sounded off, then like bees from a agitated hive, they would bounce to the most adjacent thing to do and be doing all intense like.

I’m sure we had better things to do than watch them buzz around, but it sure was a kick in the pants, and we would imagine they were our soldiers, or maybe our slaves of some sort, you know when your a ruler or a General or something, you had to have human beings to do what you said, right?

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