She decides to begin this journey nameless, and then ponders the difference between being nameless and anonymous. She sticks with nameless because she wants to be remembered.
At the moment she's occupying an aisle seat on a cross country train, impatiently. Delays, language barriers, lost tickets and thieves. It all sets her on edge. She has no suitcase but a huge handbag filled to bursting. Not necessarily easier or more convenient, she decides it's a challenge.
Besides, she likes presenting a puzzle to the other inhabitants of the carriage. Sitting on a rush-hour train with her long hair loose and messy, her long legs tucked neatly under the seat, almost hiding her bright silver sandals and tanned toes. She likes to think they will wonder where she is going, or why. She has a cocktail dress but no makeup on, wide eyes and no tinny headphones to hide between.
To pass time she flirts with a shy-looking office clerk, blowing a kiss to the girl as she leaves the train in the suburbs. A little later, a man with a guitar case sits next to her and strikes up conversation. He's a musician. He thinks she is beautiful, he wonders if he could write a song for her. Not right here, she hopes. Play me something nobody else here will recognise, she says. Play me your favourite. So he does, right there in the carriage, and she doesn't know the song. She watches his face as he sings and decides that he is beautiful.