Warsaw Central

"What's the book about?" That has been the question since I began writing Warsaw Central. I say, read the story and then tell me! Otherwise, the entire novel, every word and space, is the response to the question. So I can only begin by giving you an excerpt, something that I hope will produce interest and pull you into Warsaw Central. If something more concrete is still needed, I give you this: it's a love story. The last train for Stalowa Wola had left only fifteen minutes before; the next train was not scheduled to leave until the late afternoon. If she was not on the afternoon train then he would certainly be on it. Why not? This was still another chance. He grew lightheaded at the thought of another hurdle; his legs felt as if they could no longer support him. He needed to get something to eat, to warm himself up in a cozy pub, perhaps even shave. There was still a chance - all he needed was a ticket. But Orlando did not move, and each minute that passed diminished his chances of seeing Ewa again. When he finally did move it was to fall back on the wall and slide down onto the marble floor. It had turned into a decisive moment, when it was all up to him - and to give up seemed so much easier . . . he went into his pocket for a cigarette and instead felt the crudeness of damp paper. In his confusion and mounting apathy, with the final sign of direction pointing to the ticket booth, he pulled out the letter Jude had left him. It was the unspoken, the alternative, the dead.