This is freaky. No matter how many books I write, it always shakes me up, those sudden memories resurfacing when least expected.
I'm describing the main character's childhood as connected to trains (I thought I made it up) and it turns out I used to go to the Central House of Railway Children in Moscow (Центральный дом детей железнодорожников, pictured above) even though my parents weren't associated with railways. We lived nearby, and my mother taught knitting and other classes there.
I wonder what else I will remember.