I saw her again this morning. She had a new red coat, and I openly admired her shapely curves.

     I'd been captivated from the first time I saw her coming down the street. The crowd seemed to part, and there she was. A sudden heat washed over me as she passed. I sneaked a quick look at her caboose and knew I had to have her.

     I dreamed about her last night. My dream was steamy and the sweat glistened on my bare chest as my body pumped in rhythmic lunges. I gave her what I knew she needed, and she responded to my efforts with a shudder as the fire inside her grew.

     I pulled myself from my reverie with a smile. After tonight, I wouldn't have to dream. I sat down, but I didn't have to wait long. Just like that first time—the crowed parted as she came chugging into the square. Her boiler gleamed with a shiny new coat of red paint, and steam billowed from her pistons.

     She came to a stop, and I boarded one of her cars, a telegram clutched in my hand.

It read: 

Inner city transit seeking firemen to shovel coal for the new commuter line.

Apply in person tomorrow evening.