We saw the train and wished we were on it. Instead we walked in the rain along the tracks. Long ago surrendering all attempts at avoiding saturation. Jane spoke fondly of an umbrella that she once owned but left on a bus. We both came to the verge of tears at the thought of a bus.
The rocky service road finally tore through my shoe. I took it off and threw it into the woods, swore then retrieved it. I took off my shirt and tore it in half. Jane tied a piece around my bloody foot. We walked on.