
I want our lives to be a fancydance, for every Indian to run straight into the imagination without stopping for a drink first.
I want my entire family to say no to the 9-5, say no to midnight special, say no to the first indescribable cigarette, say no to the men and the women who steal dreams easier than they steal hearts, say no to the rest of the world, and say fuck you to anybody that tells them that now is not the time to dance.
— “Time to Dance”
Indian Trains is about small town Indians, about community and family, about thieves, prostitutes, train stealers, drug dealers, loners, jerks, dreaming alcoholics, and the ones who did everything but all of that.
It is about an entirely new tribe: urban mixed-bloods of multiple tribes who are respectful of where their ancestors have come from but are increasingly going to Indian powwows, Indian bars, and Urban Native organizations for cultural fulfillment rather than only returning to reservations to find out who they are. They are about 70 percent of the Indian population—the truly unsung peoples of America.