Ftrain, by Paul Ford

In the elevator down with my boss, I said, “God, I’m swamped.”

“There you go,” he said. “And the more responsibility we give you, the more swamped you’ll be.” A little life lesson.

“Oh fuck!” I thought, “he’s right! I’m only 23, and I’ll be 30 in a couple of weekends, asleep atop a hollow mound of web sites.”

I ran to the A train, and switched to another train at 34th St, this time Amtrak, and bought my ticket to Florida. I’m staying in a little hotel.

Still, they could reach me by phone. So how far is Cuba, really?

I made a raft from Pepsi bottles. I launch at dawn. Sharks and jellyfish can’t compare to the fear that I might ransom of my time and soul in exchange for greater profits.

My transistor radio keeps me up to date. I report to you from an Internet Cafe in Miami. Comrade, count mine a narrow escape. Goodbye.