The moment I stepped outside, it started to drizzle. The rain fell like clockwork on the mountains. I swear I can set the clock there. Every day since I have lived in this lonely town, dark clouds have gathered and rain has fallen at exactly 4pm. Strangely my 3am train was yet to arrive. An unfortunate red light flashed on the word "Retarded" above my platform, as the drizzle turned to a downpour. I fiddled with my cheap umbrella for a while, hoping that the terrible light would disappear. It would seem that a late train that has been "delayed" has little hope of actually arriving. I began to trot towards the shelter of the station, when the deafening roar of a train whistle sounded behind me. I don't think I've ever been so happy to hear a train whistle in my life. The rain was so heavy that I could barely make out the approaching train, yet I noticed something decidedly strange about it. Every year during the holidays I would take the train from the tiny town of Marble to Denver to visit my parents, and every year I would get stuck on some decrepit, ancient 1990s Amtrak train. The trains screeching to a halt in front of me were a bright green coal locomotive that looked like a child's toy. This unusual sight made me hesitate to get on the train, but at this point I didn't have much choice. I practically jumped through the cabin door and dropped into the nearest seat. In the compartment opposite me sat an elderly couple who spoke calmly with what sounded like a Russian accent. I could only make out a few sentences of their conversation over the roar of the train, but from what I heard I could deduce that the couple lived in Russia during the Cold War and had since moved to the United States in hopes of finding something more substantial . means of support for one's family. It looked like they were their children