Flashpoint of cesium, half life of yttrium

From Stuttgart to Jena, from Jena to Breslau, a brief interlude at a sanatorium, then on to Warsaw and the ritual drowning in consonants as a purge against clamped consciousness, before tracing all the way back to Barcelona. Backpack with books and clothes, head full of a dreamer’s itinerant attention and unerring aspirations, thriving on weak tea, hard cheese, and spongy biscuits, buoyed by optimism equal parts unearned and irrepressible.

Dust into dust, yes, and so much of it seems gauzily drifting in the past, but the scene at every rail station along the way is a core memory stamped into every neuron that is still firing.