Bruce Springsteen DOWNBOUND TRAIN (Paris FRA 1985, june 29)


Dear Joe,

Yes, we've all been riders on a downbound train at some stage or other in our lives. Infact, I used to catch one daily, as the geographical location of my office in relation to my home required as much. However, Joe, not all of us were lured into a life of crime as a result, as we can all surmise you were. To swing a sledgehammer on a railroad gang, as you crow, is not as such a particularly ringing endorsement of your career trajectory since your wife left you. Neither does it do much for your future prospects as regards finding a new wife. Because I'm here to tell you Joe, that things aren't so bad for you. You can, nay, you will find love again. Isn't that your dutiful role as a good Springsteen protagonist of the against all odds variety? Were you not born to run, free, in the general direction of Thunder Road? To, as an American, never retreat or surrender? That's right, Joe! So it is! Joe, buck up! Noone wants to hear your boring stories about your glory days such as they passed you by in the blink of a young girl's eye! You're better than that, Joe. Your tune is infinitely more catchy.

Things are not so bad. Times are not as you say, hard. Not especially.

I realise as the mister (no mind that I am a woman, I get where you're going with it regardless) to whom you so vehemently assert that you once had something going in this world, what with your job, and your girl (I don't see that this speaks of an especially ambitious outlook on your part, but whatever Joe. I understand you were previously happy, I'm following), and though you don't mention either your girl by name, or your job by title, I take you as trustworthy, Joe. Let us continue.

Everyone has been fired at some point in their life, Joe. It is a statistical inevitability of the modern age. You should take solace in this. What can have been so great about whatever it was that you did at the lumber yard anyway? The likelihood of accidentally lopping off your own hand with a chainsaw was far greater there than it was at your next place of employment, the carwash. Though I think you are exaggerating somewhat to claim that the location of the carwash was somewhere where it rained constantly, equally you should realise there are people, say people living in the middle of the Kalahari desert, who would give their left leg to live in such a place where rain is reportedly so plentiful. Additionally, I'm sure there were other great things about the carwash that you left out of your story, should you care to remember them now.

Joe, everyone's heart has been broken. Again you are not alone in this, and rather you should look to the many advantages that the clean resolution that was the end of your relationship provided you. Instead of wandering through life in a ceaseless state of unresolved torment, howling into the void WHY?, the reason for the end of your relationship with your girl could not have been made more plain. It is staring you in the face. She even told you, Joe. You had it once, you ain't got it anymore. Simple. It is over. That is why she packed her bags and left with a ticket for the central line, Joe. Relationships end. Plenty more fish in the sea, as they say! You'll feel the kiss of another girl in the misty rain, Joe! Isn't that a lovely thought?

Firstly though, Joe, we should address the issue of what appears to be your severe mental imbalances. It's okay, there are a great number of highly effective drugs available these days Joe, here in the modern age. If you are, as you report, hearing voices in the night, specifically the crying, crying voice of your ex-wife, you must understand Joe, that they are not real. This is not really happening. I guess though, that you discovered as much after running through the woods in your jacket and breaking into a house, which you believed to be yours by the side of a highway. I suppose, bearing in mind your current state of incarceration, Joe, that I do not need to remind you that breaking and entering is illegal. I also suspect, that nothing good can come of spending your nights in the woods. What were you doing out there, Joe?

Neither do I mean to cause you any degree of embarrassment by saying -- and here I speak on behalf of all women -- that there is nothing manly about dropping to one's knees and hanging one's head and crying. This is pathetic, Joe. Not least when your tears where spurred by something as innocuous as the whine of a train whistle! Many thousands of people hear these at all hours of the day, all over the world, Joe, and they are unlikely to be found bawling in an empty room, complaining of a pounding head. Perhaps Joe, if your chest really had exploded, and this was not just a further figment of your imagination, then you would have had something to briefly cry about.

Joe, actually, you know what? There is no hope for you. Your place in Mr Springsteen's canon of protagonist losers remains cemented. I'm sorry to have wasted your time, during which you could have no doubt knocked down several of them cross ties on the railroad. If you are now behind schedule, I apologise. I hope there is no punitive action taken against you. This is very important work that you are undertaking Joe. Please, as you were! (Feel free to supply this letter as a absent note to your on duty officer.)

Apologies.