songs: chelsea hotel no. 2, lana del ray; let’s get out of this country, camera obscura; tired, lily and madeline; dreams, the cranberries; seek and hide, lucy wainwright roche.
I’ve been on this train since 11.30 this morning and it’s 4.30 now. I have two seats and two tray tables to myself, and it feels like mad luxury. There is coffee and leg room and out the window, snow on the ground and tall trees and mountains. Brooklyn is far away. Behind me, there is a girl with very neatly cut hair and a red sweater. Something about her makes me certain that she spends her time climbing hills.