Monday, 20 April 2015

day one week fortyone two thousand and fifteen

Upat 3, sleep destroyed, disturbed for one hour. Then wake at five, torn from sleep by the clock’s beep. The mask’s straps are hurting my head.
Too tight.
maybe the head has swollen.
Shower, get the clothes on- cannot find the glasses.
No time left, go without.

Birdson in the street. Hurry, hurry. the two italians are perhaps not italian women at all, or maybe they are. They are unlocking the door to the turkish fast food place. Maybe, because both pizza and doner kebab are on offer here.
A new bus driver, takes in money and drives fast. The station plaza is deserted and grey, lit by the dim   predawn light.

Anastasia serves coffee, a dozen at a time again, how is it that she is so fast? who knows. Maybe she is just naturally so.
Hedgehog and Moustachio are happily discussing their daily newspaper, a  tabloid with very large-lettered headlines in red.
Monday, this is one of the more evil days of the week, even if it is already promising to be a very warm and sunny day.

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