Waiting for a train.

It’s a grey and hazy morning in the sharp-edged, angular new town of Ørestad (unlike Edinburgh’s New Town, this one is actually new). vanishing point

The train, as announced, is delayed by three minutes, something that seems impossible in this city of inhuman efficiency. I am hungry. I awoke early to the sound of some child I don’t know, making sounds I don’t know, presumably words I don’t know, in a language I don’t know. My dreams had been upside-down and jumbled and occasionally irksome – strange wilful dreams of swimming, sunshine and Sam and a door, high in the air, that led nowhere. Of things painted and painful. Sometimes when I sleep I pick at scabs.

An impossibly huge, rusted cargo train speeds by, with a noise of hissing cats and a cold metallic scream. Everywhere there are words I half-recognise without knowing, like vague shapes in the dark that would be familiar. Today I will go back home and tonight I will sleep in my own bed and tomorrow, if I’m woken by a sound, it will be the sound of one I love making noises I recognise, words I know the meaning of – insofar as I know the meaning of anything. And this is a good thing to remember. I switch on my MP3 player and cocoon myself; I listen to Nick Cave to cheer me up. I should reiterate that gloriously unlikely statement: I listen to Nick Cave to cheer me up. Because, again, I know his noises: a comforting anchorage in this alien nation.

The sun comes out, and here’s my train.

Advertisements
Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: