The cold of a Boston winter cuts through you like a knife, making the walk from the office long. I pulled my coat tighter, the sight of South Station emboldening me on.
The station was shrouded in a frosty haze and filled with trains. The grand ones, NE Regional and Acela dominated it. Fast, they would take you to NYC in 4 hours, serve you drinks and new people to meet.
Not so the ones of the MTBA, Boston’s commuter options. The subway creaky and old, locals called the T. Next to it, the commuter train lines sat quietly waiting, with the purple and red set of cars. These were the ones I took, they each had a name, mine the Haverhill Line.
I often thought about trips to NYC or DC on the grand ones, but Haverhill Line took me back to Kathy each night. I just called it “The Train”…