a completely bank holiday mad dash through Copenhagen leaves me wishing there was more time; the city is beautiful, like Amsterdam only more capacious, more direct. Long sprawling avenues under low, lazy streetlights, caressed by swarms of cyclists guided by their very own miniature traffic signals. Herons carouse majestically over the many parks, rubbing feathers with wood pigeons and swans, that hiss like alabaster alley cats when you approach. Our foray precedes the queens annual procession through the city center, and though our spandex schedule can’t allow room for her august presence, soldiers pipe and snap along the route, anticipating. The train to hamburg is a restless human laden affair, people in the aisles and pressed against outer doors like rumbling barnacles, each repeated story of erupted lament aquires the sameness of receding waves scratching the sand. Same story as us. We cross into germany on the ferry, watching sunlight shimmer off the waves, like static on an old black and white television. Too pretty an afternoon for this choked train, for volcanic ash. A one hour layover in hamburg precipitates a run on mcdonalds, as we have not consumed since an ugly late night train snack; the German franchise has bagels, bless. I yearn to try the neighboring vittle venue, it’s logo being an extatic graphite pigs head in the act of smashing it’s way through the wall. No stretch sorting out what happened to the rest of him…The apex of our wounded trek via train through 4 countries in 24 hours looms a mere 20 minutes hence, I shiver in recollection of moses’ fate, sinking beneath the sand just breaths before Canaan. Then I remember I’m here for a big fetish party, god has bigger fish to fry and so, for that matter, does sand. I’d sink into a bed, between the pale flour of her thighs.