The present days have no limits other than the distance separating two tracks. No night would ever change such a course. It might make the red traffic lights seem silver – just that. The present days don’t run in circles. Everything that comes through knows its time and teaches it to the ones that forget to leave. There are no mistakes and no truths. For as much as the tracks have names, the wheels sit parallel to one another. There are no more perilous bridges and as cliché equilibrium there are no breaks either. And that great distance, which you have covered, don’t ever turn it into a ratio because velocity will belie you. It is really nothing grave, really; steam, gasoline, really; aromatic hydrocarbons. The frozen landscapes you see from the window pane are no more blinking images if you come and sit in the front seat next to the driver. Smoking is allowed there and the one-way street illuminates the traces even when you are not looking. Smoking is allowed there and the ticket collectors are bitter chocolate waiters – to each his own. Smoking is allowed there, and the promises are Gordian. You know the kind that cannot be untied, only cut. You know. Though not with our swords; only when we reach the Iron Age will disembarkation ever become possible.