day five week twenty five two thousand and fifteen

sleep, black, dreams at Dublin mansions. Turn the clock off, the small wakener. Bathroom, shower- all the usual. Pills and tablets, no water. Horrible, quick to find a water tap, wash the dry hard nasty-tasting things down.

Church lane is the same as every day, with its tiny shops. All lit with lamps made after the style of early twentieth century century gas lamps.

Dolores at the bus stopis picked up by a man in a Mercedes today. He runs around the car to open the door for her. Some service! Bus driver, big and told, looks at the proffered fifty cent piece suspiciously, it has seen better days. It is in order, though, and he gives a ticket for the short journey. Outside the vehicle the shop and office people pass on their way into town, into work. The bus drive is forgotten as it happens, an important thing of no consequence. It is secure, it is the same as all of the other times that it has been used... 

Friday railway station, in the morning traffic of the second week of the year...

The big blonde girl serves coffee today, she is slower, but there are few customers, so so what. "Moustachio, and the Italian man wearing a wooden cap with a pommel on top, are at their tables. There are others there too, but they are of less definite character, less fun to watch.

        The train is delayed today, why? nobody will say, nobody knows nothing.

  But in the end, it is a matter of eight minutes. This is not too tad, not too serious. It can be dealt with..

        Sleeping commuters  in the train. Relaxed faces going into the day, some with earphones, all with eyes closed. Young woman with a face framed by the fur of her black parka, her blonde bright straight hair strands hanging after her chest, doll-like smooth soft looking face, rouged cheek bones. Angelic.

        The Train's delay means that the connection to the local S- Bahn fails, this will mean that all the further connections

- will fail.

        go to the freising Yorma, get an extra coffee there, and continue with this blog, the morning notes in the train that arrived in the meantime.

Two young men conversing, talking incoherently, unable to knit their words together, but talking all the time. a young  man of maybe Arab descent, (going by his accent) and another with a beard,  both talking broken German.