And again I am sitting at yet another train station, in another provincial town, waiting for my train. February bites outside the windows, and there is also slush and cold in the soul. I'm running again. I run from city to city, from place to place, from hotel to hotel, and I have no peace, like some restless Agasfer, waiting for the ever-enduring Christ, who, it seems, did not promise to return... I run away from myself and constantly overtake myself, forcing me to run away again and again...