Friday, September 23. Windenburg station. 10:45 am
It was a beautiful sunny day when Julia arrived in Windenburg.
Although it has only been two years since she was here for the last time as a college student, it felt like a lifetime ago.
As soon as she graduated Julia had moved to San Myshuno – the city had a lot of opportunities for a young journalist like Jules. After spending the most of her life in a small town in the desert, she fell in love with the big city immidiately. And it wasn’t just the city she fell in love with. She met her first true love there.
Soon enough she settled pretty good in San Myshuno and she
never thought of leaving. Not until one day she caught her boyfriend (who was also her boss) in bed with her best friend.
That’s when it all fell apart.
Julia could barely remeber how she made it to her place. She spent all night sitting on the bathroom floor crying her eyes out. And with the first glimpse of sunshine in the morning she packed her bag and left the city. She felt like she couldn’t stand it there anymore. Everything reminded her about the betreyal of those two.
And Windenburg seemed to be just the right place to clear her thoughts and get shit together.
Once, when my sister Julia was a baby, he and my mother were travelling in Italy; there were no railroads in those days, so they drove in an old-fashioned travelling-carriage. One day they stopped at the door of an inn and my father went in for a moment to make some inquiries. No sooner was he out of sight than the driver slipped in at the side door to get a glass of wine; and the next moment the horses, finding themselves free, ran away, with my mother, the nurse and baby, in the carriage.
My father, hearing the sound of wheels, came out, caught sight of the driver’s guilty face peering round the corner in affright, and at once saw what had happened. He ran along the road in the direction in which the horses were headed; and presently, rounding a corner of the mountain which the road skirted, he saw a country wagon coming towards him, drawn by a stout horse, with a stout driver half-asleep on the seat. My father ran up, stopped the horse, unhitched him in the twinkling of an eye, leaped on his back, and was off like a flash, before the man got his eyes fairly open. He galloped on at full speed till he overtook the lumbering carriage-horses, which were easily stopped. No one was hurt; he turned the horses back, and soon came to where the wagoner still sat on his seat with his mouth wide open. My father paid him well for the use of the horse, and he probably regretted that there were no more mad Americans to steal a ride and pay for it.