John balanced himself on the track, with his arms out wide and his mind in the clouds. “I think maybe I’ll tell people my mom’s a lawyer.”

“Y’know lies catch fire, right?” I told him.

“Feed the fire!” he commanded.

“Paralegal.”

“What’s that?”

“Believable.”

He paused. “My mom’s a paralegal,” he said, looking back towards home. “Does that sound true?”

“Yes, you’re fluent in bullshit,” I said, “Should we stop doing this?”

“Not until I’m not here and not poor." He hurried along the rail.

The ground trembled.

“You'll never make it,” I said.

“Why? We’re almost there!”

“Freight train.”