Arlene Ang Beyond the Orient Express As the train snakes into a tunnel, you consider Poirot and feel, as the coach sparks at curves, your unbleached mustache sizzle to be waxed for investigation. The dimness may cue murderers a young hippie who headfalls for support against a matron's ruffled cleavage, a child obsessively stroking the blonde doll in his sister's arms, the conductor who punches holes in tickets when not targetting skulls with a red-lit silencer. Is there mystery being inside a python, melting into the intestines of a mountain? You proceed to guess the identities of passengers, blithely unconscious of being another unidentifiable victim after the crash. |
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