Трам-пам-ам.

Phoooo, yeooo, these are a roll call and jar, a rhythmic of columnar shadows, an endless chain of eaten and thawed afterwards on the second day from a freezer full-cream ice slopes. Drunken water towers have shifted on their side and never been getting dry since the last century. A meat of killed animal revenges for the last time with remains in teeth just because you take care of the nature and do not use tooth sticks. Plus what’s the point; anyway coca-cola that deceitfully swashes in a shining glass holder with a star will solubilise everything. Go on, gulp down a bit of patriotism and carry on fidgeting with your lips, eyes, nose in a plump full-cream ice. The more distant from the City the more of the sunshining with almost soft swing of beige and light blue, in spite of gloominess. A moist air chills friendly with the megalopolis alveolus. It is strange for them to gasp a gusty air on the move. There is emptiness in the head only thin continuous yellow line of a gauzy thread like an encephalogram that rushes along from house to house racing with my express train. Vast spaces of white fields close up on the horizons as if you look at the depth of stitched album sheets with pencil notes.  Traces of bygone adventure have begun to sink on the thin crust of ice over snow.  A sparse wood with structures that go deep into it, a shy roe looking like a snag reflects a blink of the flied by express in its big and moist eyes. I am stealing furtively shadows of an opposite lying passenger’s sleep.

Grddddddd.

Later I found out that was the next in turn explosion of the Nevsky Express.