Working days until Moscow.

The next couple of days are not so interesting for the reader, I guess. I just wrote and wrote. In the morning at the kitchen table, in the afternoon in a cafe, and the last day in a huge bookstore. That is a nice story though. Max helped me to buy a train ticket to Moscow online. The train left late at night, and I had to spend my last day in St Petersburg waiting.

But just as if some angels from a Hermitage canvas had followed me, there was a 24 hour bookstore at the other side of the street, with a cloakroom, with good coffee, and with a live music act. This was a promotion concert and an interview with a electric violin player, who really got some tough electronic beats from a drum computer and he let his fiddle howl through my reading of Hemingway. Not exactly my pair of shoes, but I enjoyed the experience. My writings grew a few pages that night, and I was content when I fell asleep on the night-train to Moscow.