Something just happened.

And she had no idea what it was.

But she found herself on a train, window seat.

A train she did not remember boarding.

In the distance, she heard the steady voice of the Conductor. “Tickets, please. Tickets, please.”

She attempted to grapple with the new reality about her. The Conductor’s apparel was old-fashioned, something she remembered seeing from documentaries depicting the 1920s or even an earlier time. Her seating area was of the same vintage. Plush, voluptuous, velvety upholstery with tassels and button backs against a trove of tiffany glass and deep, wooden, carved paneling. Not her style at all. Yet the seating area was very clean and comfortable. Her bench seat was forward-facing, on the right-hand side of the train. A bench seat was positioned immediately in front of her with a rearward-facing view. It was unoccupied. She noticed a dozen or so of these rearward/forward bench seat combinations, and most were empty.

The Conductor, sauntering the center aisle, approached her. “Welcome aboard, Miss.”