Faster, faster, faster

They are automatically assuming that making choices means one of them is wrong but you know it’s right and you listen to the rhythmic click of the welding in the rails whilst your train is leaving.

In your head a train of thoughts is running and you wonder if the road ahead is really what you want and you realise it won’t make a difference with the loneliness that lies behind.

The spray of steam and soot from the locomotive hits the window while you try to look past the landscape that is moving there in front of you before it’s getting dark in an hour or so from now and lights will pop on around you.

You don’t want them to find out you are heading for the late Summer sun on the vineyard you are travelling to, that place in Toscane that you saw in a movie which you wanted to be in so long ago.

Meanwhile your train is going southbound through countries that you remember from when you were young, through the landscape with the river and then mountains follow cold and dark and high.

And everything will be alright you think because you will be a Gardener for an old rich lady sleeping above the garage writing down your memoirs on an old typewriter that you found growing old in the evening sun with a glass of wine to salute the day.

Faster, faster, faster.

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