8.April 20/4.
The catsong at four, see that it is in not lockedin. No, it is food and attention it wants. leave the door open for the black pet, it hits its head to the hand that strokes it. Purrs, ¿it it content? The alarm sounding has the friendliness of familiarity and the insolence and persistence that only a machine can deliver.
Bathroom, shave, water warm and shower. Clothes and fetch the shoes from the second floor store. Quick polish, down again. Laces kaputt. Oh well. Dawn the stairs and out of the door, past the leather shop with a green handbag in the window. Through the streets, the cobblestones are-damp, the shoes slippery. The bus stop much like it was two weeks ago, before Easter, before this troublesome first day at work. The worried glance of a small woman passing, wearing headphones. The first human contact-of any kind today. Tomorrow will le the same. Or different.
good morning with a smile, before the bus comes. The driver with his gloves, to protect his hands from the dirt of the coins that he must take. White haired round faced man.
Yormas is sombre. The girl Anas used to schmile, is now all serious. Sad. It is not a job to be loved, feeding the sleep-sodden working population of committed commuters on their daily routine. A row with colleagues does not help. There grows another row
The same crowd talking as if two weeks ago.
The clock is slow, it is time to go.
Train's entire on time, the same push and jostle.
The one from the platform on the other side, opposite. The train seems to slide into the tightening, foggy, morning, towards the start of the week and the troubles of the day.. Moosburg is left for 'Freis Ing, a string of cheap stones linked on the commuters, chain.
The steady, gas-like his, of the tinnitus. making the voices of conversing men further up the train
indistinct.
listen.
instinct
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