Aurora

Dear sir! It's seven o'clock in the morning. I've deigned to arrive at my humble place of service, for today it's my turn to keep watch by the furnace. The sweet old African-Jewish tram conductor, noticing my presence, wished me a good shift.

I'm thinking about getting my hair done like it's from 1920, but for now, "les rois du monde" is in my ear and I'm off. Alasdair didn't forget to give me some sandwiches for my troubles. He, poor thing, has no idea that I remember how those sandwiches were first invented.

(On the stretch, when the train jerked, for a second I distinctly heard not a melody, but a horn. That same clanking, bassy sound that makes your ears pop and makes you want to crawl under your seat, clutching your temples. Then I realized: it was just the horn of an oncoming train. I shudder. I poured tea—and splashed it past the mug, onto the control panel. It's a good thing Alasdair wasn't looking. He would have whispered again, "Darling, it's just the rails," and I wouldn't have been able to explain that the rails had nothing to do with it. Rails are just iron. But the sound they make when they speak—that's a story in itself, one that rumbles in the back of my head every time, making me count the impact of the wheels, as if I were there again, as if I were still waiting for the eruption to happen.)

She has 2 dogs:
Angel Cane Corso
Buttercup Angora Dog