He's my Dean Moriarty, just eighty years younger than the original. Propelled by an internal nuclear power plant, he's unstoppable and invincible. In charge and loving it.
Enjoys trainspotting. Planes are cool, bulldozers are amusing but trains are great. They're the greatest.
Hey, it's a steamer, he yells at me and I must take a look. I watch him watching the wheels, amazed and diligent, until he gets bored. Sort of.
Let's watch YouTube, he suggests next, jumps on the bed, laughs and screams again. Knows them all, from the Glacier Express to the Shinkansen. And I have to go through it, too, otherwise it's just half the fun. And he definitely doesn't like things halfway.
I wanna go to Central Station, he pleads afterwards and there's no escape. Riding back and forth until he's satisfied. Passing out in the car, he's giving his personal assistant a short break. She smiles weakly and I smile back. We both know.
This is love.
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