MY RAILROAD

I own a railroad. It is a line of very narrow tracks as the Trochita between from Esquel to Ing. Jacobacci, but runs in Greater Buenos Aires. I have not been able to know exactly its route, despite my efforts every time the matter appears in my dreams. Perhaps runs outside Morón, because one of its stations is at a crossroads of streets away, in a vague place near the Vergara and Juan Manuel de Rosas Avenue. It is an already abandoned station, but occasionally full of dreamlike passenger train arrives.

 One of its terminals, huge, but now desolate took place away from Pompeya. Preserved in its tracks old passenger carriages, ridiculously small, where a crowd of Bolivian workers huddle to travel to some other unknown location for the middle classes. This train stops have names that nobody mentions out there and tributes unknown people remember. Sometimes a worker who died during the laying of the rails, or an engineer who decided the place of that platform than ever deserved roof or box office and now nobody uses.

 The trace was well thought out, with long straights, uplink and downlink. Full of hopes laborious to create new populations in the middle of this desolate countryside. The buildings seem to a modern style of the 30's, perhaps the Italian rationalist. They cross the streets nowadays without barriers, although occasionally a slow convoy returns to advance the mute workers and dreamers.

 Despair for that service out of a dream and there again, so that the grass on the sleepers cut, so they can address it girls with white coat and blue bow their heads, hand of their workers but impeccably dressed parents. If I could touch again with my hand one of its seats, smell in person the scent of acaroína, see again ashtray with sand platform which still smokes some other Avanti ...