I ducked down and walked slowly toward the freight train as it rolled to a stop. Concentrate, I thought, trying to mute the sound of the gravel under my feet. I stopped three feet in front of the railway car, and saw it was the one I wanted. It was basically half of a box platform for a bigger transport container (the same as transport trucks haul) and there was a five by six foot empty space behind the giant box. Perfect.

I took a quick look around and threw my guitar bag over the rim. I pushed myself up by my arms and toppled in head first, my shoe catching on a metal hinge that jutted out.

I loved the adrenaline rush that I always got when I climbed onto a train, and today was no different.

It was hour five and I hadn’t had much success. I had hopped on four trains in the hopes that they were going somewhere, but just as soon as we’d start moving, the string of cars would stop and roll backwards into a different waiting slot. Maybe I should have taken that as a bad omen.

To my surprise, the train I was on started moving, and picked up speed as it left the train yard, headed in the vague direction of Truro. Or Cape Breton. Quite possibly Montreal. I didn’t care — at least it was moving, and I was on it.

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