we stop at a train station surrounded by sand. wind whips across the platform making our clothes and hair and beard fill with fine dry sand. vendors on the platform sell us molten chocolate and bottles of water filled with ice that stay cold only for a moment. someone knocks a jar of preserved cherries from a table and it smashes open launching warm looking entrails outwards across the concrete. i imagine they cook instantly.
we eat squidgy chocolate sweets that slide from the wrapper like mud hose-piped from a car bonnet. a thermometer outside tells us 34°c, but we're in an airless metal tin-can.our next stop is the mongolia-china border in 200 miles.
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