Pachabel's Canon in D Major rolls over him in gentle waves that simply fill him up. He sits with his head in his hands as he takes a deep breath.

"It's been a long year," he muses to himself. He sits straight up in his chair and reaches for his pack of cigarettes. He lights one and inhales the pallid grey ball containing carcinogen good times.

He hasn't stayed in the same place for more than five months. There were times when he wanted to stay, but couldn't. Every five month cycle has been the same for him. At the beginning, the imminent departure was hidden by his procrastinative personality. He'd think about leaving some other time, he'd put it off. And why not? There is an excitement that comes with new surroundings and new social cirlces. Things that distract. And then suddenly, it was time to make the journey that always begins in a train station. Fully loaded with a bulky duffel bag and scarred backpack, he sits on dirty benches until the voice belonging to a tired man in an official uniform cries excitedly, "all aboard!"

The walk through the gate where tickets are stamped, the slowing train that finally comes to a stop. Boarding the train and securing his luggage on racks that are heavily over burdened, and then finally sitting down.

Train travel depresses him. He stares out the window for long intervals without looking at anything. There are times when he attempts to focus on the blurry images screaming past him and other times when he watches the seemingly immobile, distant landscape pass slowly by. The iron horse that lumbers along on it's carefully laid tracks as it slices through monotonous peasant settlements that display a backward underbelly.

He's never sure when the train ride shifts from an excercise in gathering distance from that which he has left behind, into an expectation that of his new destination. And once the train starts moving, he doesn't want it to stop. The sky turns dark and the only thing the window offers is the reflection of fellow passengers just as bored as him and stark lighting that leaves bold lines at incomprehensible angles on the frosted glass.

The occasional stops at countryside depots to pick up new passengers while at the same time excreting old ones are a distraction he'd rather do without. He loathes the interruption in the rythym afforded by the train passing over the steel tracks. The gentle bumps and subtle changes in direction force him to readjust his position upon his seat. It's like being gently rocked to sleep.

He has endured what will be his last train ride for some time and enters a land that carries on at a dizzying pace. Sonic waves that carry the shouts of desperate peddlers describing wares that are for sale. Engines combusting next to each other eager for a green signal while spewing carbon dioxide waste. Inside the buildings he passes while floating down the shoulders of broad boulevards, business deals are being negotiated, artists are creating, and mothers are cooking. He senses that which he does not know with every closed door he passes, bulky, heavy luggage in tow. He needs work, and a new place to call home. He has arrived, and he must conquer; in order to secure security and settle into a life that pleases. He walks. A fish. Out of water.

He longs for a cigarette and Pachabel's Canon in D Major while sitting in peace inside a dwelling he has imprinted with the weight of his habits.