8 August 2014
sons clock sounds at four fifty nine in the morning. His new craze, to be up at the rare same time as his father. Shower, tooralloo brushteeth and pills. Son looking at his films.
Lucky 'Luke. Belgian comedy.
The street is really quiet-Walk slow, plenty of time. There is a black Bmw lost in the pedestrian zone, driving hither and thither, dithering about in search of an exit. It is market day again, people setting up stands, laying cables. It must be worth it, having a market stall.
The bus stop is deserted, there are only ducks eating crumbs from the river wall, left there by some bird loving person.
Bus number four comes and goes.
Five minutes later bus member one comes, it goes directly to the station. One euro and tenants. Or ten cents.
The smoker toes the yellow line to his square, he always stands just outside the permitted zone. Chattingg to his colleague, who stays inside the box.
good Morning, smokers.
Frau Peters at Yormas. Fast and friendly today.
The pen is forgotten, left in the office. Blog later from memory
A stench of deodorant and shit fills the cafe. Two working men who took tthe liberty not to wash, and believed the advertisements of the cosmetics manufacturers.
If you can't fixit, cover it up.
go to the platform early.
Train on time:
No comments:
Post a Comment