a logscribble by hvincent

Snow blows through and collects in the vestibules. A man with no legs curls up wedged between his seat and his wheelchair, looking accusingly at me for letting in a draft. A Muslim family sleeps in a pile, the women pulling their scarves over their heads, while one young man stands over them and swipes through Arabic tweets. I walk past cars half-empty, but feel shy taking a new seat; the conductors impressed upon us that this is a fully-booked train, and we are not to stray from the seats they carefully assigned us. Who am I to second-guess their organization?

I have to sleep sometime. I have to sleep sometime. i want to be awake for the sunrise later. I have never seen a sunrise from a train.