I laid back in the cushioned leather seat, the setting sun lighting up the trees in the moving background, amongst the hilly land. The land closer to me moving at quite a pace. I smile, my brown and cream fur spreading itself into and on the seat holding me. 

Quite a standard evening, a not-so-standard trip. A friend of mine arranged this trip, and quite a long one it is! This only makes sense, my friend living the next state over. Either way, it had been a while since I met my friend, over three years! Yes, sure, we could keep in communication through the telegraph, but there's simply something lost when you're talking through that. And the fees, my goodness... we worked it it's cheaper to simply have me visit for a week!

I had a cabin to my own, it was a quite relaxed evening ride. It not being holidays, and in the middle of the year. There's not really any particular demand on the rails around this time, but some people ride regardless. Really, it's the best time to ride. 

Particularly since the dinner is fantastic.

The sound of the trolley squeaks in the background, audible over the noise of the wheels on rails. My warm dinner is here soon, I just know it. I hear the sound of a plate and cutlery being placed on a table, drinks poured, and conversation exchanged. All only serving to make me hungrier. Their conversation seems to never end, why, by my goodness, they're discussing the darned weather! Yes, fine, nobody is going to deny that the train doesn't have a darned good heater. Yes, fine, it's only 13 degrees outside, sure, it's a bit chilly. But that's hardly anything special! Do any of those things have any degree of importance over my warm, moist, tasty, delicious dinner being delivered to me? Why, my stomach is grumbling as I wait! I glance down to my stomach, the view of the tail flopped in front of me beyond it... I could swear, if I stared hard enough, I could see my very fur ripple as my stomach grumbles. As the waiter and the people being served laugh, I could have sworn I heard my stomach growl in pure anger!

But, then all the angry growling, hissing, and rippling stops. The trolley. It's wheels, they squeak. One of my ears perked, I could hear the very wooden wheels themselves press themselves against the shag carpet. Pushing and crushing the individual fibreic strands of the orange, beige, and cream coloured floor under the weight of the wheels of the trolley containing my utmost desired delight. The squeaking slowed down as it got closer to my sliding door, I could hear paper being shuffled, I swear that if I listened hard enough that I could have heard the waiter's very eyes move in their sockets as they made their way across the list defining which warm plate containing each person's desired moist meal going to which carriage... she must be new or something! The impatience throughout my body puffs up the very strands of my fur! My tailtip, it flicks and swishes about, both my perked ears hearing the flicks of the individual strands of the fur there as they break through the airs very molecules.

Then, my trance is broken. The squeaking stops, and my sliding door opens, the face of a woman shows itself, the head capped with a white headgear and donning an apron on her body. A cream coloured tail, green claws, and a smile on her face. She must have been quite young, I observed, as the door opened itself completely. The whaft of smells from the trolley filling and invigorating my nose. If there was mistaking before, there is none now. This is most definitely the trolley of which contains my desired dinner.

The Breloom ladies mouth moves, and then opens... she begin to speak, “Hey there,” she says, her accent clearly from the city of Sandhurst, the glorious industrial city in the South-East of our great continent, “I'm so sorry about the delay. I can tell you're hungry!” she squeaks out, leaning over with her rear pointed towards me. The only thing keeping me from staring is my absolute lust for my warm and moist dinner that of which absolutely demands my attention. She raises her body up once more, the sound of a plate and cutlery reverberating through my cab, “I completely lost track of time! I feel so embarrassed!” she said, in a clearly flustered tone, leaning over to place the plate of food on my table, the knife and fork inside a napkin, placed on the right side of my plate. The plate containing my utmost desired food that has teased me so, “I can tell you're distracted, either way,”, damn right I am, “so, I'll leave you be! Enjoy yourself!” she exclaimed happily, swiftly exiting herself from my room, and closing my door, the opaque window from my cabin to the hall showing herself walking off, pushing the heavy trolley once more, squeaking away...

My eyes are immediately drawn back to my dinner. It's a simple one, really. A Hamburger, and deep fried salted chips. A Hamburger, with deliciously cooked beef, lettuce sourced from the greatest farms of the East coast, onion chopped by a skilled Sneaselian chef who grew up from areas of which that're only accessible by the giant airships that can lead other great lands, sauce sourced from an ingredient list whoms contents are a complete mystery to those except those of which that own one of just three Heavy Harry locomotives ever made, and buns baked fresh on site from the city of Sandhurst through to the great mountains that we're traversing right now. Even just the individual scent of those freshly baked Hamburger buns is enticement enough to encourage my mouth to salivate to the point of near dripping.

Not that the chips themselves are no incredible feat.

Deep fried in the fat from the meatiest cattle that could dared be found, and salted with such salt that is of which rumoured to have been made by a Combusken... or made from a Combusken, the rumours change with each person you ask. All of this is completely irrelevant. They are absolutely delicious. Nobody can ever possible dare to deny that. Denying the quality of the chips that the transcontinental railways produce to entice customers is testament to blasphemy. I'd dare say that you'd have bricks lobbed at you if you dared not even bite into one when in public view!

I grinned, and quickly swiped my finger to one of the individual warm chip, my cream coloured paw barely getting a chance to enjoy it's heat as the chip flew right into my open maw. It quickly snaps shut, and chews at the delicious chip. The heat, the potato, the oil and fat of which it was deep fried in, the salt... all dance in my mouth and onto my tongue. Barely any time do I get to keep tasting it until I grab another fat chip! Swallowing just before I get the other one inserted into my mouth... 

With chips this good, and a burger even better. I can't possibly tell you a better start to an evening ride to a good friend's house as the sun sets into the background and my belly begins to get sated. The chips quickly extinct... and the final member of the Burger subspecies following after.

I'm breathing rather deeply. The meal I'd just consumed was rather filling. Not just filling, it was exhilarating! I will never get tired of the meals produced by the chefs of this company. It's an exclusive club, the chefs hired by the railway... and with good reason. With food good enough to encourage marriage on a train, you'd never dare to lower the bar of quality.

I shuffle my body about, lowering myself to rest onto my back, flicking the lightswitch... the sun is, by now, completely gone. It's dark outside, and it's black in my cab. With a steady temperature of 21 degrees generated by the heater, and a comfy leather seat, and a blanket easily accessed. Well, I slept well that night, my black tipped feet wriggling as the last thing I do before closing my eyes, and to rest to sleep.

This is a good world, a good life, and a good day to be a Zigzagoon.