in marseille.

yesterday was the strike. trains ran slower due to a lack of conducteurs; my train rolled from outside paris into gare de lyon as my 1:15 to marseille tugged out. had i bought a ticket, i'da been out 50 to 100 euro, but i had different plans.
solene and i crossed the street to her place and dropped off my bag. natasia and thiery sat down to lunch; solene and i grabbed a few items from the fridge to down before leaving with thiery to the strike. he got his flag, i got my camera, we put on our shoes and left.
walking, solene turned holding the flag and said to me, use to, french people walked with baguettes and wine; now its strike flags. thiery turned and responded half-joking, its a new concept: the permanent revoluion.
at the metro, one train came and went without space for us, packed like a japanese subway, so we left to walk. outside, thiery and solene discussed something in french, then decided that walking would take too long, and we got on a different line to take us closer to the march. we waited from our new stop as one train came in and rolled out, then another, both bulging like balloons full of sand, so we walked.
arriving to the march: people chanting, banners, signs, people dressed like old men with walkers, afterall, this is all about retirement age. we walked toward the starting point, shooting pictures along the way; solene and i reached laurent and pauline and said goodbye to thiery, who continued to the back to meet his group.
we walked a while in the parade, but my next train left at 4:15, so i cut out early and went to the metro, but again the frequency of two minute trains was dashed to one every six, so i waited; my train came, luckily not overflowing, and i got on. from my stop i walked fifteen minutes to solenes place to get my bag, said goodbye to natasia and went to the train.
at gare de lyon, i found the platform where the train waited for its travelers to board and situate themselves; i stowed my bag, took my book and issue of new statesman (amanda) and sat in an open seat.
i chose any seat i could find since i had no seating assignment; i never bought a ticket; its strike day. im on strike.
the train pulled out and i read an article, started a short story but fell asleep. whatever time passed and i awoke to french countryside and its distant mountains; i finished the story and the lady beside me stood up to get out. at the same time i looked up, one of my few times to do so, and there leaned the man walking the aisle checking tickets.
quickly yet subtle, i went to my bag to rummage, pretend to look for something, sure, ill take my cookies. i stuffed them in my back pocket and thought to myself, as the man checking tickets made his way closer, i think theres a bathroom downstairs, as im in the top of the double-decker train car. down the steps and into the washroom, i took my time, let a little pee into the toilette, not close to as much as i tend to wait for, washed my hands - thoroughly - and slowly stepped back out.
as i went up the stairs, in the reflection i saw the man in front of my bag checking two other tickets, and i decide to not look back, go straight to my seat, and sit down. the man never returned.
i sat biting my lip so not to smile, thinking, surely its not this easy. im not clear until im off the train, i told myself. i looked out the window because the back of a head has fewer characteristics than a face; the baby's idea that if i cant see him, he cant see me.
the sun dipped closer to the mountains, shadows cast, pink ribbons bled the suns light and dark violet in the shade.
with every gasp of the air-locked glass doors behind me my heart skipped a beat. and this time i heard a lot of chatter behind me. i glanced quick to see the man discussing something with a lady across the aisle; i turned back, oh its so pretty, i cant take my eyes away from this beautiful countryside. the chatter lessened and i looked up to see if the coast cleared. no. presently, a second man with conducters cap and credit card machine held the ladys visa printing a receipt. i turned back to the view.
staring outside, i wished i could sneak out the window and ride the train top. after several minutes of a nervous stomach and feeling eyes in my back, i finally turned around.
a man stood beside my row; ah! but hes on his cellphone, walking out to talk; hes no man of concern. is this true? am i clear?

the train continued into lyon.

will he come by to check the tickets of new passengers?

he didnt.

we pulled into another smaller station, then another.

the sun dropped behind the horizon, now flat strolling into the coastline, and the colors had faded to deep blue as the overhead bell rang in the car and the conducteur came on in a soft french drone, madame et monsieur, and i understood nothing else but, marseille st charles.

the train whispered to a stop as passengers gathered their belongings and lined up at the door.
they slowly stepped out while i waited to get my bag. i packed the magazine, the book, and the cookies, went down the steps to the platform, breathing easy, not believing i made it, for free.

i tried the phones to call caro, the friend picking me up to lead to her flat where im hosted by she and her collecataire (flatmate), but they didnt work until a generous man, whom i waited to ask me for something, helped with my phone card. it finally worked and i talked to caro. i offered the man my phone card for his help and he mumbled something about needing to buy more time for his phone, do you have some change you can spare? truly i hadnt, and i said sorry as i put my phone card back. i wish i could help. its okay. we said goodbye. good luck, i told him and i found caro waiting in the station. she led me to her flat and i met the cat without getting her name, and juliette welcomed me to make as i want in the apartment, so i took off my shoes and gave them the bottle of wine i brought. we drank the wine and talked, listened to music and laughed, and eventually it became bedtime.
the girls started to pull out a folding bed and i interupted saying the couch is perfect if thats fine; i never want to be difficult, so i say no to things i think will be a hassle, thereby confusing the situation and becoming an eggshell. dang.
but theyre fine with it and caro got sheets and blankets and made up the greatest bed one can make of a couch. thoroughly impressed, it made me think of a bed & breakfast; she brought pillows and we and juliette talked some more in those late-night tones of voice, finished our drinks and went to bed.

i was tricked by marseille when i stepped out of the train station telling caro, its much quieter than paris. the piercing buzz of mopeds and vespas, grumble of trash pickup trucks, rattle of dishes and drunk-loud conversation barraded through the broken windows as i laid flat, sure it would settle after everything closed.
i woke up, and woke up, and woke up, closed the shutters which didnt help, laid back down with the pillow over my face, rolled one ear into couch cushions, held the pillow over my other. up then out and up then out and then caro came in for cigarettes and i said hello; she went back to her room and i dozed again to wake up a while later to the same sounds that shook me awake all night; this time i started my day.