Some people enjoy drinking in parks, I like tripping on trains. An off peak ticket, a mild(-ish) psychedelic and a window seat and the trip begins.
Beyond the verges of the city, we hurtle through the veins and arteries of the land, spectators in the midst of a moving feast, yet I’m the only one who sees. As the rush kicks in, the countryside unfolds like a rolling blanket, a verdant green wet dream of frolicking hills, gamboling rivers and dozing hamlets.
Colours, people, bleed into each other in a most euphoric way and even the very air seems pregnant with rapture and dreams.
Lofty skyscapes stretch toward eternity, like my mind it seems.