JOURNAL OF DIXON AINSLEY
3 August
2:14 p.m.
Outside of Perm, en route to Izhevsk, Russia
Writing this in the car. Not the best of writing situations, not just because the Thomas Flyer’s shocks are almost nonexistent, but because the blasted pram keeps hitting me on the back of my head.
What pram? The pram that accompanied our passenger, one Monsieur Vitale Barionette, Frenchman, Stormtrooper, and world wanderer. We saw him on the side of the road early this morning as soon as we left Yekaterinburg.
“Look,” Paulie said, pointing at the figure ahead of us. She was driving, since I was recovering from the trauma of the night before concerning my toe and an extremely poorly made faucet. I will say no more about the subject other than the fact that Russian faucet manufacturers have a good
