18.02.14.
Good morning for a cat. She is punctual, sits at the end of the bed waiting for the clock to sound. It does and she starts. Get up, feet first and see to the mornings happy tablet. Go to the kitchen, feed the cat, and off to the bathroom. Shower.
Warm. Return to bed, the wife's awake and the light is off. Find the switch in the dark and turn it bade on again. Find clothing, get dressed and get out It is past Martins bells: The streets are bare, greasily gleaming cobblestones. Past the church there are people wandering around, many possibly still asleep.
The bus is early, the driver is listening to stupid melodies on his radio. He takes his money, gives a ticket. The usual morning people pass by outside, the good morning lady is not among them today.
The new building for the vocational school on the right, austere and businesslike in its sterile cleanliness, with all of those wall panels fitting perfectly neat to each other.
A self conscious smoker stands alone in the designated smoking area before the railway station. This is a yellow square delineated in road marking paint on the space tutored between road and steps. There is an ash tray on a stand in the squares centre. No shelter, isolated. Anastasia is back at the cafe. She is tired today, no smiles. Probably getting used to the job.
What a pity.
The tattered buttered pretzel is muh as it always is, highly rubbery, very buttery. Every day. the name thing, it is better than their garlic and salami roll, which tastes of old fat and dry bread...
Train time again.
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