day three week twenty two thousand and fourteen

3.12.2014

awake alarm after a night with little sleep and bad dreams Stare at the still-dark cieling, look at the clock, reads 5.05.  S.O.S. Get up, shower bathroom, return, find clothes, all new today. go back to bedroom, get the clock. No wristwatch, Set the impressiv imprecise wall clock, the one that ticks quietly, the old school thing. Walk down church lane as the bells sound twice for the half hour.

        The old street is full of racing delivery trucks, all in a hurry, doing their christmas delivery for the Christmas trade. Driving-like maniacs.

        Dolores is not at the bus stop, apart from a group of cyclists  swooping by much as the swallows fly, intently, quickly. Swoop!

        Find change for the bus, to keep the bus driver happy, board the bus, have a ticket now. A fair fare.

        Station, well lit, christmassy, the smoker with his pigtail.

gut wagon. Huygen.

        The big blonde and the shaven headed man at the cafe today. He is preparing the days sandwiches, she is serving, effusive, slow. Hard to ray why she is so slow.

        There is a bad smell of stale bread and old coffee. Perhaps the rubbish needs to be taken out. They must have a lot of rubbish, that cafe.

        Hedgehog there alone, the Italian worker with his snotty stylish glasses too. Moustache is there, and the long haired handbag girl arrives in a new winter jacket in the style of a figure advertising french automobile tyres. But in black, true to that woman's style.
Rosenheim train is in, so leave for the platform. There is a puddle of what looks like urine in the station underpass. A smells of beer, in passing. No further analysis,required, there is a train to catch.. There are people all practising assertive boarding  techniques today, after the train has slowed to a stop. Grim faces, The concept of not doing their best to be the first onboard is entirely foreign to their way of thinking. Struggle, as if there is no time,. 

Wait inside the carriage for the train to leave the station. Small black squares on their velvet-like seat covering, plastic-covered headrests. rests. The antimacassars have gone, fewer people use hair oil anyway. This went out of fashion fifty years ago. Wooden armrests, formica tables, linoleum flooring.  Fluorescent tlght tubes, glaring bright. That their colour is really very greenish is clearly visible in the facial shin colouring of all the passengers. pale greenish yellow, unhealthy.

A man leant with a huge beard leaves the brightly lit train toilet. It has wide sliding door, and is lit inside by even brighter lights. This illumination pours out on other ride of the man  standing centrally in the opening- hands on his hips, beard flowing.

Encounters of some other kind.
It looks as if he has been teleported in from another time, like a filmic depiction of time travel, hollywood lighting effects and all.
The door closes behind him, with a Star trek hiss, like some kind of airlock to another dimension.

Wake up, Moosburg has gone, we are slowing down for Freising