I’d love to be a train conductor. All the years of training, working long hours at the station, and collecting ticket stubs would be worth it when, on the first night’s route, I would roll through my hometown and blow the horn however I pleased—long ringing bellows or staccato honks punctuating the night air. “Watch out everyone, there’s a bigass train about to roll through. And guess who’s in charge? That’s right, baby. Me.”