When we were ten to eleven years old, my brother, cousins and I started riding the train from the Santa Ana Train Station to Union Station in Los Angeles to visit my aunt and uncle who was attending UCLA at the time. When you’re that young and trusted to navigate public transportation on your own, you feel in awe of the freedom that was just handed to you. The four of us explored every nook and cranny we could find at the train stations and perceived it as an epic journey ready to be tackled. That feeling still hasn’t waned even years later when Rich took me to Union Station on one of our first dates. The nostalgia washed all over me as I remembered the comfy yellow leather seats and the cathedral ceilings we used to stare at while we waited for our train. That day, Rich and I had no place in mind but we rode the train to see where it would lead us.