boxed in

another variant of waiting on a train, walking in a drift of other places again: found an old documentary on india and fell back upon memories of the first train ride, sitting dangling legs upon a landscape contrived to be a combination of echoing pages and that which was passing...and suddenly falling into dr gonzo and the receding wave of an age a feeling of displacement, where the sounds and smells of memory weave an unexpected detour upon the moment and the comfort of the transient self...and at journeys end words stumbling through wine, shared memories and differing perceptions as pippin the cat discovered that felines, in general if such a thing could possibly exist, don't really like cold garlic bread even if it does have cheese upon it....