We can go, Jean, the way is clear, the luggage is checked in. On stacked notebooks, memories have taken the train. Hélène, life is a railway; the tracks cross to converge at the heart of our signal boxes. Inside, everyone is a survivor every day. From these vanished worlds—childhood, youth, missteps and graces—the music remains. Words roll like stones to the rhythm of our stories, lived, interrupted, dreamed, in a book of journeys for two.