When sitting in the train at the Minot, North Dakota station, you can see two different scenes: one out the left side of the train, and one out the right.
On the left, dozens of dragonflies zip in and out of a rail-side grove of trees I can’t name. Tons of dragonflies, and tons of trees.
Out the right-side window is the station itself. A garage door’s thrown open, and I can see in to an inside that’s sparsely furnished and looks hot. Concrete floor. A wooden desk. An old computer, and two railroad guys with their feet up, one in an old swivel chair and the other in a broken-in La-Z-Boy.
The conductor of our train is outside refilling the water we’ll use for the next 20 hours. I watch him. I watch the dragonflies. I watch the man in the La-Z-Boy resting his feet.