Poetry has a way of coming to me in the most unusual of places. Here I am, minding my own business and then I see them. The words come crawling towards me, yelling at me to write them down before they dissappear. But how can I? I am in a shower in a new hostel in freaking Latvia? Why do you do this to me? It's as if they come in pairs. Once the first one is done a new one is lurking to take its place. Haunting me all over again. I want to run naked through the hall but feel somewhat rude to the people around me, they won't understand the hurry, the need. But I do. I want to run, to chase after the words and hold them down till they're mine forever. Locked in place and time. And here I am. Doing my best to remember them as they were at that time. They've changed surely. Maybe for the better, maybe for the worse? We'll never know. But here they are.