From Tom Thomson in Purgatory, published by Exile Editions in 27.

That train’s not run here for a thousand years.”(He means a hundred, maybe?) “They still sell the tickets at the station, though, if any- one would like a useless souvenir . . .” And Tom is tempted: he do love useless things. Remind him, they, of someone he knows well. His wallet’s stuffed with currency from all manner of countries not in business now; his camera aches for discontinued film. (Ditto his typewriter & its odd ribbon.) And all his maps are maps of continents that sank without a trace some time ago, flora and fauna gone extinct, extinct as Tom himself feel he must surely go.