Транссибирская магистраль

I spent the morning watching a program about a railroad, the afternoon brooding about escape, and the evening drinking vodka. Now that it is night and the cold air creeping through my open window smells faintly of rain and sky, I will pretend that the clang of the furnace is the rumble of a steam engine and my down comfort a thick, mink fur. When the swaying of my berth wakes me in the middle of the night, Konstantin will wake, too. He will hand me a glass of water, tuck the mink tight around me, and say  Go back to sleep my darling Katya. We've only just crossed the Volga. Vladivostok is thousands of miles away. Then he will kiss my forehead and I will know that the adventure has only just begun. 

(Еше водки, пожалуйста!)

For JPN. Someday.