she flicks the mapthat takes up one-third ofwall space.on her desk, there's aspinning globe: sometimesshe taps it to set it rotating. unfocuses her eyes and lets the worldblur past. she makes a list,writing alphabetically,reverse-alphabeticallyand flips it around again. scrambles the order, calls uponline travel literature. in the evening shecrams in language, makesflashcards of grammar. she'll go …
in transit
she's a wanderer. she leaves traces of herself everywhere that she goes, trailing bits of forgotten stories like silk scarves trailing on the wind - perfume hangs in the air when she exits a room, toothbrushes bought in bulk and left like some sort of dental gingerbread path. in the evening is her favourite time of the …
lucky thirteen
let's hit the road. (you never say it, but we go anyway)
when in paris
when in paris, i wandered aimlessly down a random street.
