Trains were the most satisfying vehicles, especially for painters like me. Trains were quiet, convenient and comfortable, that I could totally relax during the trips. The train could bring me tranquility comparing to airplanes; they could share the secret of nature comparing to waterways; and they could place me down comparing to cars and buses, by suppressing the time during the journey. Not saying that airplanes were dangerous and luxurious for a painter like me. Once, I was rushing down the line, heading towards the University of Chicago, admiring the old factories the archaic old city, where I met my collogue Peter O Weasley in a small town called Charot. We were ecstatic about the reunion after years, but the only I could remember was a story he told me about one of his students, Harbinger.

Weasley enjoyed travelling by train just as I did, and the town of Charot, as a transfer station of a huge line web of trains and highways, became his camp of travelling. The station was huge, prosperous, filling with fellows of people from different states and cities. The sits were never empty and people were chatting with others, sharing their thoughts and feelings with strangers behind them. Weasley was the talkable kind, and once he saw someone carrying piles of painting and a small, exquisite easel was shouting in the hall. “Outstanding artists, underselling the masterpieces. Only 100 dollars!” He shouted as several curious people coming around looking at his “masterpieces” about dark ocean and the figures of a lighthouse. It’s not a price, he thought, as he went towards the men and his works. 

As he was approaching the man, a strange feeling began to rose, a feeling of familiarity, which was intense that he looked at the paint again and again. The painting he was talking about was a figure of a raging ocean, in the dark of night and rain, splashing its anger toward the passing ships and ocean birds. A lighthouse was standing in the back of the picture, waving this light towards the ship, guiding them towards the safely shore. However, the painting was just familiar that he could even tell the disability of the painter without even took a second glimpse. The shore was dark, the lighthouse was so small and the picture was in a weird structure. The paintbrush was the biggest that it overlapped the details of the surface of the ocean. He remembered that he had asked some of my students to draw a piece symbolizing the confront of light and darkness, and this one was totally the worse representation of the theme, that he even thought about purchasing the work for education reasons. 

The one selling the painting finally noticed Weasley, and he smiled, advertising his painting: “Hey, friend. Want a painting?” He pointed to the one picturing the ocean, “I spent two weeks on this masterpiece, with the best canvas and the best color. You cannot meet someone who paint good like me.” Without even noticing Weasley’s feeling, he continued introducing his painting, “I painted this one while I was on the train to the University of Chicago. While the train was hurrying towards the destination, there a plain, filling with flowers, and I was totally inspired so I just painted them right on the train. What about 130 dollars?”

The man then introduced his experience of painting, travelling around the country with the train and painted what he found impressive and beautiful. He also mentioned that he was inspired by his travelling experience and the classes in the Universities were unbearable that the professors were nerd and they never understood the meaning of art. 

It was enough, and my friend made an excuse, escaping from the weird painter. How could a painter describe his work as a “masterpiece”? However, the most astonishing was when he finally reached the University of Chicago, he noticed that the one who was selling paining at the station was exactly his worst student in the class, and the painting of the ocean was the only work he gave a “D”.