A rusty old locomotive creaked into the station. People from every different place you could think of were lined up at the door, waiting to get in.

I adjusted my bag as I waited for my turn. I was here for a special reason, at least for me. People said I was getting old, getting forgetful. Well, I would show them. As I drew closer to the clerk, I cleared my throat.

“Allll aboooaaard!” he shouted, then looked down at me. “Ticket, please?”

“If you expect the unexpected, doesn’t that make the unexpected the expected?”

“Well thought,” he said, and let me in.

This carraige was ablaze with activity. “Dinner service,” I said, motioning to a waiter.

“Of course, sir.” He led me to a table.

I glanced at the menu. “Can I have the filet mindnon with grey matter hollandaise, and a cerebrum a la mode to end?”

“Certainly, sir.”

As I waited for the order, I listened to the general hubbub of the car. People were deep in philisophical conversation.

I was going to like it on the Train of Thought.