The Inside Rail

I stop every year, sometimes in a hurry, sometimes on a stroll. Sometimes with Miles and Annie, sometimes on my own. Sometimes, I buy something. Most of the time, I browse, looking for nothing and always finding something. This year, it was the first dark Tuesday, after a haircut, I walked up the incline of Phila Street and into Lyrical Ballad, the timeless bookstore that has served the town of Saratoga like an old guard, an old friend.

“You’re going to do well here, bud.”

“Thank you.”

“Count your coughs. Change your leads. Watch my flag.”

“Hey Miles, Mariano Rivera is coming to Saratoga this summer.”

It’s July 11 and we’re in Saratoga.

There’s Lena. Sparky. Robbie. Clocker Dave. Cindy. Rusty’s cat. The long shrill of another lost horse signaling to another lost horse, they’ll settle down in a few days, once, they know that this place is OK.

The road trip continues.

So far, so good.

First leg of a four-state road trip.

Saratoga is looming.