. . . I’ve forgotten how to travel, how to surrender to the favor and misfortune of the rails, how one says goodbye, how long one actually stands facing backward watching Point A swiftly disappearing, and after that how long does he continue standing standing standing . . . I open my notebook, but I have no answer, I write: “traveling from Point A to Point B, from a little seaside town to Berlin, I gaze out the window at the unfinished houses on the outskirts, warehouses in the industrial zone, stunted trees along the river with plastic bags hanging from their branches like bats . . .” Translation: Rachel Daum