Nyell Segura

Nyell Segura


nyell.ns@gmail.com

I passed this guy while I was on the train, on my way to an audition. He was asking people for money, hitting up all the people on the cars that stopped at the station. A possible role in a commercial for a new wonder drug. I hope it helps somebody out there. Maybe some dad with a little kid or something. The train pushed forward, and I was staring out the window as we went through a depressed urban area, and there was this box in a small patch of green which was engulfed by highway and decay. A person made a bed out of this cardboard box and he used a bunch of newspapers to make a pillow. A stack of newspapers in the box. I was wondering how long they had been sleeping, living there. What his or her story was. What my story was, would be. The new drug? The box? Could be anything.

There are these old abandoned railroad tracks near where I live. There are tracks everywhere actually, going here and there, and who knows where else. Sometimes they just go off into nowhere. Sometimes they just stop. No destination. Just a journey. Well, part of one anyway. Where could I go if I just kept walking? Turned randomly? They are old tracks from an earlier time when it was so different around here. The steel is rusty and the creosote is still bubbling up from the wooden railroad ties. Some of the spikes are popping up. I can just see those guys hauling their sledges way up over their heads and slamming them down on the spikes with all their might. Setting that track. Irish immigrants? Italian? Newly emancipated black men whose parents were runaway slaves gone North for a better life? On another railroad, underground. Any and all of them. Come to America through Ellis Island, “give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses….”

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    I passed this guy while I was on the train, on my way to an audition. He was asking people for money, hitting up all the people on the cars that stopped at the station. A possible role in a…
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