The whistle, or is it the horn, is prominent and joyful from the first car (7282) on my 6:54 on a Friday. And so too a little more than a half a mile away, at home. Ms. S. says she can hear my train arriving. I love the rhythmic clickety-clack -- the pleasant, half-drunken playful dance of sway.
Or perhaps it's just the 16-oz. Bud kicking in.
Over the weekend, I mentioned aloud how Summit used to have a 12 o'clock and a 5 o'clock whistle, which was really a war-like siren exhaled at the fire house and heard all across town. In my kitchen we had a blue, civil defense placard on the knotty-pine wainscotting that told us what the different siren frequencies signaled in the event of an emergency.
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