The clothes dryer across the hall in the back of my father-in-law’s house produces the rhythm of a railroad car when it’s running, and just now, in adjusting to tune out it’s repetitious sound, I suddenly became aware of a connection with a version of myself in a moment distant in both time and space. I felt I knew so much about him, or, rather, this self, but I was unable to understand the information. This is all I knew for sure: I was sitting here, in this room, hearing the dryer, and he was there, on a train, hearing the wheels on the rails. We shared common awareness for an instant, only long enough to prompt too many questions. Which of us was the past, and which the future? Then suddenly the sensation was gone, I assume, for both of us. Who was he? Who am I? Was I just now a memory or a premonition?