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Junassa

The train rattled from Warsaw towards Berlin. In the compartment sat a couple of men in suits and a couple of Finns who trusted the timeless style of the windbreaker. I was one of them. The door opened and a woman entered, the kind a doctor would describe in a medical report as: habitus businesslike.

When you sit in a six-person compartment without noticing there are four others, that’s either talent or dementia. It annoyed me that no one said hello or even smiled. The woman was so self-absorbed that I pulled an iPad from my bag and wrote a text—in Finnish. Beware the lyricist’s revenge, you Central European cosmopolites.