"Running late after a day in the air. The land looked like prime beef, marbled blue and grey.
The 23rd of February on New Cross Station i looked for the temperature gauge in the ticket office 10c.
It won't be Spring until it's 11 degrees. Leaves on the track, delays. The endless line of steel that runs like a vein through Europe stops at the coast and I need a signal box to listen to the twitter of approaching trains.
I see you there. Old fur coat, Russian CCCP, cheap but useful, beaver skin against the cold. A good place to curl up, stained by your visits.
The lake waits glass like for your visit. Don't travel via Amsterdam, you'll arrive late."
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