Onboard, Toronto-Montreal train. I am already spoiled by free Wi-Fi and empty seats in front of me. The mind is entering a festive vacation state again: only pleasure ahead, if only for a few days - art, food, wine, snow, an apartment in Old Montreal, my parents, my tablet loaded with books. And with that, I just want to finish the horrifying Stephen King story and start with rude sensual Henry Miller. No more fear and pain, even in the books I'm reading for now.
