Here’s a little something I wrote in my notebook while waiting for my train from Lille to Paris on August 4th, some was written while on the train. I was on my way to Paris because I flew out of Charles De Gaulle the morning of August 6th. Thought Id type this up seeing that it would be a good beginning to blogging.

August 4, 2009
Start: 21:33

I’m in Lille, France. In what could be the one of the coolest train stations Ive been in. It’s 9:33 PM or 21:33 as the Europeans would write. It’s been awhile since I ate that space cake as as hard as I tried to deny it, I’m actually stoned. It took long enough. I first noticed when I sat down and saw that I had an entire hour until my train departed. At that point I sat in a lame metal chair and thought about how long an hour is. I thought about moving seats into the nicer waiting room, but then I thought I should smoke a cigarette since I had an hour to kill. Remaining seated, I then looked for spots to smoke but realized I should move outside to smoke. Then i saw the sky through the train station’s windows. Then I saw people. Then I looked at my watch and saw that I only had 45 minutes til my departure to Paris. About two minutes later I though to myself, “17 minutes ago I was supposed to go outside, smoke, then move into the waiting room; but instead I just sat here for 17 minutes. I’m stoned.” And that’s when it hit me: I like Space Cakes.

I started writing this bit after I moved into the waiting room(I’m sitting in it right now); this British-controlled area in the middle of France. I thought, I’m stoned and alone, I wish I could talk to someone. Then I started singing songs in my head. That didn’t work out, mostly because I don’t know any song in its entirety, except for Moulin Rouge’s Elephant Medley, but that was sung one too many times on this trip. After my failed attempt at Say What Karaoke, I remembered wanting to blog on this trip, and thinking over and over again how it wasn’t too late. Sure enough, less than 48 hours before I fly back to the United States, I pulled this notebook out and started to write.

Today I was on the verge of tears. I ran to my train in Amsterdam praying that I would make it. And while running onto the platform, I saw the doors close right before me. They were just completely shut by the time I was close enough to touch the handles. It was too late. I was too late. I was stoned. I felt so defeated, I threw my bag onto the floor, dropped my backpack, and plopped down on my stuff and felt like crying.

And by the time I caught my breath, I was over it. I asked one of the operators when the next train to Antwerp was; “In one hour.” I was scheduled to transfer at Antwerp, so had I made the first train, I would’ve had about an hour and three minutes to roam about Antwerp Centraal Station. I figured if the next train was on schedule then I’d be able to make it to Antwerp just in time to transfer. But I went to the international desk to confirm this, how responsible of me. I even had the clerk arrange an alternative route to make my last train from Lille to Paris in case I didn’t make it to Antwerp in time. In the end, I made it to Antwerp with four minutes to spare—thank you Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

Still stoned from two joints I smoked earlier in Amsterdam, I picked my defeated ass up and started the trek to the international ticket counter. Walking away from the platform, I notice a cool looking black guy with long dreds, a wrap, and black clothing with the colors red, yellow, and green found in random patches and logos that intensified his get up. My stoner face lgihts up thinking there;s someone else in the train station who might be on the same level as me. But something looked odd. Who was that white guy kneeling near him? Oh shit, that’s a cop. Oh shit, there’s a dog. Oh shit, they’re searching him for drugs. Oh shit, I have a delicious sack of SilverSun Haze in my backpack along with a Space Cake. Stoned and paranoid, I try to act calm and walked away from the dogs hoping, wishing, praying to every God I knew that the dogs wouldn’t smell me. Step, step, step. I made it passed them. Close call, only when you’re high. Mission accomplished, I got passed the dogs, I was armed with Plans B and C, and I was full.

Half an hour into my self-imposed exile from the platform, I began devising a plan to evade the dogs when it was time to face those demons once again. I decided it was best to just wait until I had to rush over, pretending to be “late” for the train. I even tried to give myself a “disguise.” I took my contacts out and slipped on my Girogio Armani spectacles to look more innocent and studious. I also took my camera out and placed it around my neck to look as touristy as possible. When the time came, I walked to the entrance of the platform, waited until there were 3 minutes left until the train departed, then ran up the stairs, shifted to the side opposite the dogs were on, then rushed past everyone and flew into my train cart as high as a kite.

It doesn’t scare me that I arrive in Paris at 11:23 PM, or 23:23, with no idea as to what I’ll do, where I’ll go, or where I’ll sleep tonight. I guess I thought I would just figure it out, and if my instincts are correct right now, then everything will be just fine. I just hope Gard du Nord has lockers so I can store my stuff then walk around. I think I’m capable of entertaining myself in Paris for the next 30 hours. I;m now 20 minutes away from destination, let the “just figuring it out” begin.

End: 23:04