Bucharest to Belgrade

Bucharest, 2010

I rolled over in my bed to discover someone had filled it with stones, and also how it was no longer my bed but in fact a railway track. I fumbled for the light but could only find the pitch black night. I pressed my thumb deep into my eye socket and with my forefinger in the other tried to wake myself up, but still it made no difference. I was lying on a railway track in nothing but my boxer shorts.
I got to my feet and looked in both directions. Neither was better than the other. I could see no further than two metres. As I began to walk the stones punched up at my soles. For the first few steps I had to feel out with my toes for the next sleeper until I could calculate a stride.
As I skipped along the track I remembered my flu. I reached out for a tissue but could only find a leaf. It was cold and then sometimes hot, but mostly freezing cold. I pulled my boxer shorts beyond my belly and increased my skip to a dance.
Some hours later I waltzed to the first house but it was no use. The man spoke no English so instead covered his daughter’s eyes. He demanded I leave so I did a forward roll to keep warm and was on my way.
I cartwheeled up to the next house to find no one home. I had a bite from their larder and a sleep in their bed but could only dream about train carriages and Serbian boarder police so had little choice but to continue on my way.
By the third house so much time had passed I’d forgotten why everything was so. The man spoke a bit of English but ultimately I couldn’t answer his question about why I choosing to dress like wild maniac so was asked to leave. I did one handstand against his wall, plus another for good luck, said goodbye to his daughter, and was on my way.

Belgrade, 2010

I reached Belgrade just in time to catch up with my train. I folded away the bed, blew my nose, and closed the window of my cabin to prevent further accidents. I got one high five from the conductor and continued on my merry little way.