'Friday 27.
Free breathing, awaken, turn off the clock at the bedside. Bathroom, slower, ready to go. er
No-
cannot find the jacket. Eventually discover it on a door hook in the kitchen, hung up in a fit of absent- mindedness last night.
The uncleaned shoes, no time to spend cleaning them. hurry to leave the house, take up the paper, and go down the street in the light from the leather shop: The flagstones on the pedestrian path are drying from the edges, all damp in the centre.
It is still dark at the bus stop today, due to the heavy aloud cover. There is no Dolores, and the Italians pass, one dressed in black, with her tights, and one dressed wearing grey baggy training trousers, sports warm up thingys. Very proletariat. The bus, in so unremarkable Today, sit in
the very front.
The way between the bus and the station entrance is hampered by many bicycles, pedestrians need to pick their way through.
The smoker, pigtailed still, and alone at his designated square. The one door to the station is still closed, it still has red and white warning tape all over it.
Think about it. That door is opened and let fall close by every passenger entering the station, every day.
It is severely tested.
Big Blondy does the coffee ritual today. kafay? Jubitte, pay and place a rubber stamp on the discount ticket. The ticket is full after todays stamp.
This is the last working day until the end of Easter.
The train runs through a grey wet landscape, past the Netto shop sign in Moosburg, smoothly, appearing almost to slide on the new tracks. People come on board, there are not many. Hear the release of the brakes, a pneumatic whistle followed by a short sharp sound-
Moving on through the sodden landscape, no longer grey, but green now, a green that will steadily grow as the spring progresses -> .
News of the smashed airliner is on all of the front pages; but most of the passengers, the reading public today, are reading the sports section.
Time progresses, the dead will be buried,.
what is left of them.
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