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August 18, 2008
I'm a child in a nightcar going somewhere, maybe Warsaw, mum and sister with me. It's the darkest part of the night; I wake up on my sturdy train bunk-bed. It's quiet, I feel the air stuffy with sleep. I lay on my tummy by the window, smelling the train linen - there's nothing to watch; an occasional lonely lamp-post flies past, marking a small village. I feel alone and peaceful. I step down the metal ladder, cold under my bare feet, listening to the tracks, watching the darkness, hoping someone wakes up in spite of my carefulness.