The prompt: One train leaves Chicago traveling at 45 miles per hour; another leaves New York traveling at 65 miles per hour. Both trains are accelerating at an even rate, though Qing’s 11:45 from Grand Central is newer than Russel’s 12:30. Hers has wifi, but they’re both reading books.
A common misconception about trains is that they all ride the same rails; two trains whose origins match each other’s destinations may, like packets, pick entirely distinct sets of nodes. Russel and Qing have a statistically even chance of passing each other as they kiss the southern edge of Erie.
When will they meet?
-"Qing", Brendan Adkins, AnacrusisSomehow, Russel's train leaves exactly when it means to, and somehow, nobody sits next to him. That's fine; he adjusts his glasses and cracks open the hardcover bestseller, new ink smelling like metal.
About six and a half hours into the journey, the sun hanging low on the horizon, he gets a hot dog and a bottled frappucino from the meal cart. The hot dog bun is soggy.
He glances up to see the frames of rollercoasters black against the sunset, speeding past Cedar Point. Before he puts his headphones on, he hears the sound of a receding train horn, low and mournful.
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