Angel in the Full Moon, Easton's "third and most personal story yet"

The train was three hours late getting into Edmonton, so our trip didn’t start until after noon. We stalled several times in the outskirts of town and were forced to stare out at parking lots of uhauls and discarded farm equipment for what seemed an eternity. Lunch was already being served, so we went down to the dining car where a slim lady with a French accent handed us menus and took our orders. She told us she lived on one of the Gulf Islands, but that she’d grown up in Quebec City. We asked whether she’d be returning to Quebec for the celebrations that summer. With a shrug, she claimed she couldn’t afford the trip – which we didn’t understand since, presumably, any rail travel she took was free – and, besides, she was now a west coast girl.