Sunlight is bright in every station above the chilly undercurrent that tickles necks constantly. It’s not exactly cold, but barely above the level of perception, like the hum of the mechanical systems in each coach, there is a chill that keeps you awake and replaying your latest dénouement.

“Yes…. Yes…. You shouldn’t have come here.”

“You knew this 12 hours ago! Before I embarked!”

“I thought when we met it would be different. Instead, it was so cold.”

You’re telling me! Can I go on apples and seltzer for five more weeks? I’m probably going to need more salted licorice.