wednestag

grey night of fragmented sleep, the sky reflects the red of the street lamps sons alarm hooting away to itself, hear son and wife talk about school
son at school, get up, take tablet and walk about the town. Meet the piano teacher, talk about the piano lessons.
No sense of rhythm, needs work, says the man.


practice more maybe.
coffee at Bachmaiers, not good. too bad.

Buy four brezeln, crispy fresh.
Go home.
dizzy,


"doctor please, some more of these"