We are waiting for a train,
trying to decipher the muffled
sounds on the loudspeaker.
You have your suitcase. I have mine.
This is a dream about romance, you tell me,
and I start to get mad at the way
you always ruin everything with explanations.
We open our suitcases. They're both empty.
See, we're not really going anywhere, you say.
Again, anger. The train arrives.
It's called Allegory. We have
the most expensive tickets. I get on first.