riding a train on the transsiberian railrway, as i’m doing right now, is an experience not entirely unlike prison. you are trapped in a confined space with only occasional access to fresh air, you sleep on a rather solid matress, share the room with three big russian men, and the food is barely edible enough to ensure your survival. sure, unlike a prison, there’s a dynamic, vivid, scenic view constantly passing by outside the window, but also unlike prison, it’s too shaky to write or draw and there aren’t any showers.