The Amtrak blues
(12/04/11 1:39am)
The terrazzo tile floor and vaulted reclaimed former tobacco warehouse ceiling and dim ambient light give the Durham Amtrak station a sort of artificial twilight feel, a cathedral’s stillness. You hear everything. The faithful wait on wood benches, checking the time on their cell phones. A man combs his hair slowly, the dark windows—black obsidian mirrors. The ticket agent behind the counter twirls his pen back and forth. What else would you do? He is either pointing the way to the water fountains, in which case people hardly stop to say thank you, or he’s announcing that the 7:48 p.m. train won’t arrive until 8:30 p.m., in which case people are just tired, sad or angry. Often a mix of the three.