Do you hear it? That noise which will shake you with a longing for escape. I hear it now, that noise of old travel and rusty steel. The humid night air hits my already sweaty skin as I push open the squeaky basement window. The train is far; farther than I'd like, but I stay and listen. I let the noise wash over me. First my bruised and scarred hands, then my tattered and scratched up arms. It inches its way along my body until it reaches the very bottom of my feet, making them ache. Is this what its like to have nostalgia for a past I've never lived?