Читать книгу Honey and Pepper - Valentine Ruzanov - Страница 7

I like trains. I like to come to the platform and listen to the arrival announcements from the loudspeaker. At the sound of an approaching train, I fall into a light trance. I love underpasses, rails and benches where you can smoke and watch what is happening. I like to wander around the station, going from ticket offices to waiting rooms. I love unshaven taxi drivers and pies in a cafe. The smell of a vestibule, conductors and hot tea in a compartment along with refined sugar bags and funny tinkling teaspoons. The clatter of wheels, the upper shelves and the smell of dirty but skins that you touch with your nose when passing on a reserved seat carriage. I love unwashed toilets in which you lose your balance from the rocking of the train and are afraid to get lost. I love to wash my hands and flush the toilet when I see in the hole a rapidly flashing railway track with gravel pebbles. I like to look out the window of the last carriage at the rails floating away into the distance. I love bridges at train stations where you can go to another path. Wires and frequent transfers. A long journey and an open window from which, sticking your head out and closing your eyes, you watch the starting cars when the train makes an arc. The entire train is clearly visible and black smoke is coming from the chimney of the locomotive. Having sent an SMS before arrival, I get out of the car and noticing the face of my whole wife. We go through the inspection and head to the car. The wife loves nature and silence. She doesn’t like trains and stations. We are going home and tired we go into the house. All dear, I’m back. The path is over.