The woods rush by the window of the train. The girl from Russia stopped me on the street. The coffee now has sugar but not cream. I need to stretch my tired aching feet. I'm taking a big trip to kill the dragon, a vacation to a deserted place, where wheels are still falling off the wagon, and scars from gravel sit upon my face. Where ticking clocks and melted remedies, are poured out in bottles on the table, where fate combines with jilted fantasy, and I burn the bridges if I'm able.
My life is just a fable. And the murmers that I hear...just the people on the train, as they go through their own lives.