We return to the gallery to look at the photograph – blown up to movie-screen size – we cannot afford, arguing over who loves it more.
It’s like we’re there, looking at the tracks – I hear them sing for the imminent arrival of a freight train. I hope it’ll be slow enough for us to hop on, run away on an adventure.
‘Don’t you wish we could move in at the top of that watchtower and leave the barrier between us and the world?’
Her words shatter my illusions.
I’m glad we can’t afford it. We’d only argue over who keeps it.