On an Italian Train.

A heavy suitcase was lifted to the train. The platform low, the stairs high. With a cup of coffee in her left hand, an old lady struggled to finally move the giant creature into the train of her journey.

Doors on the Italian train are plastic, hard and ruthless, they slam every passenger. The old lady came in, found a seat and fidgetingly settled. A threatening danger approached, an unbalanced security sunk in. She looked out from the window, the trees, fields, rushed back. Young American girl exclaimed her speech, old Italian men yelled greetings. Uncomfortable loneliness, anxious expectations, unmatched results - life must have been like this and she knows it no better. Where do I get off? What's the next station? An uncertain despair sneaks in. Worse, as human age, a weakness arise more firmly from within. A cage is built and the key melts into iron water.

If one knows a world so much, if one can talk so much, if one collects all the pieces of information since one's birth, a compulsory purging conditions itself. The outside world's thrones have to be thrown back to the reality.