It's a dark dark trainride to the West. God damn, he said as he opened fire in the diner car. Slack-jawed with a machine gun proped against his back, Timothy looked back enthusiastically at his act. It was done. The storm-tropper of a goddam policeman was dead. Right between the temple he got shot with the pistol now cooling off in Tim's pocket.

Tim lit a cigarette. He didn't like it. Too fuckin european. What the fuck happened to some good homegrown. Some good working class herb. Fucking French. The train stoped at Winnipeg... The junction to the West. Ukranians and Poles came aboard. The fuckers were invading the country. And the policeman was no longer there to protect them.

Four years ago they'd started this bullshit with their Russian associations. The police were good then. Shot down the crowd. Now they were acting like citizens. Infiltrating. The French had the good idea, out there in Quebec. Goddam Gospel according to Adrian.

Dark night. Gun pulled out of his pocket and thrown out the window. Bang Bang. Policemen, or whoever, knocking at the door of the compartment. Damn, For Godless sake and all that is culturally sound with this world. he thought. Sliced lemons in his glass of water in the lavatory, he felt like its bitter juices. He kept the door locked. Pulled out the wallet from the policeman's pants and ripped the id card. Took his firearm and shot the corpse in the face before reloading as the door began to crash open.