The train rolled into the San Francisco station gradually, slowing down so gingerly that it was nearly imperceptible. It did not seem a fitting end to the epic journey that I felt I had undertaken. Nebraska to San Francisco. Small town to big city. Midwest to West. Right to Left. California, the grand conclusion to America. The place where the American Dream ran up against the Pacific Ocean and turned around, doubling over in this land of plenty.
So, I was slightly out of it when I deboarded the train and found myself in a train station that looked mostly the same as all the other train stations I had seen. Seeking to escape the sameness and see what makes California special, I exited the train station. However, I soon found that I was hungry (food waits for no one) and went into the first diner off the street, sitting down at the counter next to a young man with messy blonde hair.
Looking at him, I wondered what his story was. I so hoped that he was from California, what with his blonde hair and look of ease with his surroundings. Thinking of all of the people that had had the bravery to start conversations with me, I decided to take the first step.
"How are you?" I asked.
"Eh, I've been better," he answered. Despite his downtrodden answer, he looked at me with openness and I was determined to keep the conversation going.
"Why?"
"Well, my business idea got rejected today," he replied.
"Oh, I'm sorry.... Are you from California?"
"Yes, I am. Where are you from?"
"I'm from Nebraska."
"Oh, wow. What's it like there?"
"It's nice. It's big. It's not like here." I realized that the things I was saying were not eloquent, but I did feel that they were true.
"Oh. Maybe I should go there."
"Well, maybe. Yeah." I didn't know what to say; I had just come from there. But, I guess I could understand his impulse to leave the place he was from. Abruptly, he got up from his seat and walked out of the diner. I guess he had decided to go. California was not how I thought it would be.
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