It feels as if the trains were running over your ears. For many hours the train flies along the banks of the Hudson about two feet from the water. At the stops, passengers run out, buy up bunches of celery, and run back in, chewing the stalks as they go.
Bridges leap over the train with increasing frequency.
At each stop an additional story grows onto the roofs. Finally houses with squares and dots of windows rise up. No matter how far you throw back your head, there are no tops. Time and again, the telegraph poles are made of wood. Maybe it only seems that way.