The trestles of the railway bridge connecting the land masses extended into imperceptibly, dissolving into the blue gradient of sky and water in the distance. In this moment everything else ceased to exist. He felt like he was part of the most gorgeous Richard Diebenkorn painting. There was no funeral to attend at the end of his journey. No grievers at the train station waiting to whisk him away to the funeral parlor. Nothing. Only this majesty and the rhythmic clacking of the train car on the rails. It was true that Jalil's death was long overdue but his anger did not overshadow his sadness or his relief. He felt confused. Exhausted. Right now, none of that existed. None of it mattered.
