I left for Atlantic City yesterday.

The train had come to New Jersey before the sun... I stashed my carry on above me and sat down with a typical - a particularly typical early morning New Jerseyian - look of dissatisfaction.

Beside me; the blank pages of my journal - waiting for inspiration- and on my lap a diary - struggling to fit more words - and with me, my weary hopes and dread for the future of my writing career and finances.

But it wasn't too long until the morning, more importantly the warm spring that looked hopeful this year, the sun rising erases the dim horizon.

...

Regardless of the sun, my mood did not alter and it was not until sometime after breakfast had I even considered the 'work' next to me. 

...

Half an article, detailing the new dangers of 'Riding the rails'. It felt bland, uninspired and wanting, and like I would be the only person to spare a thought for the poor men and women trying to hide, probably, aboard this very train 'The Blue Comet'.

A 'Bull' walks down the aisle, a few carriages down I expect the Bull will see red, a red sweater, cardigan, a hobos patch, it doesn't matter... And then he'll charge, and if they cannot pay the fare, or prove they're meant to be aboard, then cast aside, thrown away. All the guilt can't be put on the poor, juiced up, single father who plays guard, but it's too depressing to think about corporate plutocracy...

More depressing though is thinking about my job... every article I wrote for this - what is the Mongolia of the writing world - 'job', was and is another published piece that doesn't provide any joy to anybody; nor much coin in my pocket...  

Anyway

It was mid-way through the journey, and I had made mindless edits to my article, taking breaks to nap or blankly stare at my journal, waiting for inspiration to come; and then it did ... 

An absolutely fascinating woman in the same carriage - and pleasantly disrupted all thought - seated across the aisle from me, all this time as well!?

I couldn't take my eyes off her.

But I was careful in my 'observations' of her, she held an impassive expression I remember, her eyes cast out into the distance for a few moments. Afterwards she had turned her attention to a pile of newspapers and worn paperbacks.

The morning snacks had come shortly after, and I was still ambivalent on whether to approach this alluring woman - who had not stopped reading 'Life' since picking it up - or to remain in my impatient childlike state and see if she would come to me.

I remember that she reminded me of a portrait, she was absolutely picturesque... Gorgeous. It was her face upon Gustav Klimt's Allegory of a Sculpture, in my mind, the coincidence of the nude nature of the portrait and my wishes were completely by chance. TO be truthful, I was not struck by an uncontrollable cannibalistic desire to copulate right then and there - or not uncontrollably - but I had succumb to a far more tender feeling. Why her? I have no idea... But I knew I had an idea of something good in all this muck and it was across the aisle.

Unlike the painting, this woman had soft brown hair and wore jeans, fashioning a pair of trainers, with a flamingo-pink V-neck sweater over a T-shirt, and I could touch her without alarms sounding.

But I had no idea how to approach this modern masterpiece. It would have to change dependent on her profession, whether she was a cellist or a graphic designer, maybe even a renowned doctor.

I knew I had to simplify this somehow, I mean if I had wanted to - as I imagined - run my hands through her her auburn hair, touch the back of her neck, to slide my hand inside her pullover, have her asleep against my shoulders with her lips partly agape.

If I had wanted this, I had to say something, ask her for time maybe - but my watch... -, ask her for a pencil - but I had been writing or pretending to this whole time-, even something more menial maybe, like where is the bathroom or a query about what she was reading.

I couldn't... nothing fit at the time.

I was caught in a fantasy, but I knew I had to give up on an amazing greeting. Time passed and I opened my eyes with the courage for a simple hello, and when I turned to where she had sat; the seat was empty.

It was shocking, confronting, disappointing... thinking about it.

But I can only describe the feeling at the moment of my eyes met an empty chair as something simple, or at least not nearly as complex as the thought before this feeling..

This was like I was a child who had turned up to the sky, after seeing a shooting star in the reflection of a puddle along the sidewalk.

This was that one in a million chance, and I didn't even manage to at least, the very least to breathe air in her direction.

I spend the next few days drinking, and thinking, no great love was felt for this woman, but something great stirred inside me. A certain want for more romance in life, with Valentine's day approaching, I would be fired from my job soon, more or less thrown from the establishment if everything in my head played out perfectly... but if it had I wouldn't be in this situation.

So where does that leave me, soon to be jobless, single, drunk! There's only one place for dreams that can't form, all this ambition and no direction, Las Vegas the city of lights and the temple of mullah, where a hundred dollars could pardon more than your sins with the right cards...

And all this from a simple inaction, not great love but a lack of, not great inspiration but a want of, not great romance but a need of...