Feeling a little more zombie than human, Micah and I are riding the 7:30 a.m. train to Chicago. The train is packed full of red, white and blue Cubs fans (day game today at Wrigley,) so the thing feels like one of those damn party buses. Throw in a large contingent of hayseeds, and you get a sadly stereotypical train rolling into the big city.

One particular woman in a wrinkled jacket screaming 1994 had urgent phone business. Standing up, leaning toward this window or that, she loudly asked about someone’s hepetitis infection. Unfortunately, we never found out which flavor it was: A? B? C?

As I type this en route, we try dozing but will likely resort to chemical caffeination. Micah obviously needs it.