After the train arrived safely in the city of taxis, the writer girl was whisked away to the magical land of Broadway, to a theatre called Nederlander.
She lost herself in another world as the performers sang and danced.
The next day, the writer girl and her husband wandered around Central Park, where they sat and ate in front of the big city.
When lunch was done, they wandered past trees and pillars.
They stopped to stare at incredible architecture.
They strolled down winding pathways, guarded by lamp posts.
They pondered great rocks.
And small castles of stone.
Then, when the time came, they returned to the train station.
And homeward went the purple chucks, one dream fulfilled but many more still ahead.
Once upon a time, in the middle of July, a writer girl hopped on a train in her purple chucks and went to a big city with her husband to celebrate her birthday.
First, they entered a grand place called Union Station, a small city unto itself. Then they boarded a train, which was a particular treat for the writer girl since she had never traveled by train before.
Off they went, speeding through one state after another, past smokestacks still standing even after the building is long gone.
Through fields and over rivers and lakes.
Past train stations, far too silent for such a sunny day.
Past junkyards graced by ornate bridges.
Through and around great cities, boasting tall, shiny buildings.
Under bridges, through the warm air, the train rumbled. Until it reached its destination: the land of Broadway.
Past junkyards graced by ornate bridges.
