The efficiency of a train’s dining car can be frightening for the introvert. All the seats are filled at a table, by friends and family or strangers. It’s the way it is. It’s the custom of train dining. No wasted chairs. No being alone or only with one’s people. There’s an empty chair? It will be filled.
The times I’ve been on a train, I’ve dreaded this since it’s often hard enough for me to have a conversation with people I know, much less strangers on a train. The club car seems a better environment for me, a big cushy chair by myself with a beer and a bag of peanuts. Once travelling across the country with my young daughter, I loosened up enough in the club car to meet a cowboy named Bart. Seriously, that was his name. Or so he said.
Bart was good looking and played the…
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