One of Many Journeys

I know a guy.

This guy went on a most curios journey, and I’d like to tell you about it.

First he went to the city, but his train was nowhere to be found. He had to take a detour, praying the Gods to make it in time.

In time he did, and there the big night train, where said Gods hoped he could rest, was nowhere to be seen. Two hours passed when the iron vermin had the decency of showing up, in his belly a mother and his kids, wise and collected the children, ancient and frankly loud the mother.

Love kept them together through highs and lows. That pleased him, who went on to read a book by one of those French guys that can’t wait to show the whole world (and their mother) how shocking they can be when it comes to writing, sending pages attached in an email to their editor about, getting their feedback on hotmail.fr in regard to, proofreading, forcing a whole crew to print and selling for money their struggles as a colossal piece of shit.

The night went well, lulled by the serenity of having these three near and that writer possibily further and further away with every turn of the metal grinders. Come morning our guy is officially away, surrounded by exotic places such as “a franchise about Kebab” or “a franchise about indian food”. That is, exactly like home, but with 10% less racism.

But they must go deeper into the east, a new train and then another and then a delay, and then the locomotive breaks and then the train quietly, or rather polishly, turns into a new kind of train, more majestic maybe but not going toward the intended destination.

New unexpected change. Finally, more delays but we are at the place.

He embraces the fun, it’s all right, it’s all part of doing it right.

And that guy? Boy that guy was me.

Smirk

Guitar solo

Fade to black

I’m sorry