Beacon of Failure

You can't walk the train tracks anymore. A series of condominium developments abut these DNA-like strands of quiet contemplation, and the occupants have been complaining about undesireables looking in on Sunday dinners. I recall many a walk alone, each tie conjuring up dreams of travel, escape and undetermined futures. Now even just crossing the tracks may bring the law into your personal space. Unless you crave the fires of confrontation, I can't see how that would appeal to your average wanderer. So we now we'll seek alternate routes toward our mysteries, and dream out of context, while the hiss of the bread truck gliding across the wet road bears down upon our souls.