"I found myself sitting in my seat as the train pulled out of the Central Station in Stockholm. It was early morning. As expected, the coach to Lund was clean and efficient, right on time with the flow. I would be glad if I never came back. The city skyline disappeared. I was off to another Sagittarius adventure. I looked at two blonde beauties that sat across from me. They, like the countryside passing by were typical Scandinavian blue eyed blondes. Everything seemed totally surreal, like a character in E.L. Doctorow's novel "Loon Lake." This country was too damn beautiful, too pure. It was paradise interrupted by a black man wanting to rape Snow White without the Seven Dwarves trying to cut my balls off.
I looked at my fellow passengers, all of them submitting without impatience to a complicated system where one paid one's fare with welfare glory and the State conductor, confident in his own power, snaps his fingers and says, "tickets, tickets, varsagod, tack." Jesus! I have never really understood what that word meant. Did it mean good, okay, or what the hell? I just leaned back into my numbered seat and handed the uniformed Dick my ticket, and he said, "Tack sa mycket." (Thank you very much). Everywhere I travelled in Sweden seemed like an insidious port of call. Now on a train to nowhere, I was blowing my inward whistle--toot toot. I took a side glance at the girls, wild strawberries with cream on the top, and it was the flavor that gets one in the end.
