sleep like a block of wood with a head full of sawdust and shavings. Deep but no satisfaction. It is a bright sunny hot morning, a day that promises nothing but the finest of weather. The son is at his machine again. A strange occupation, changing to a serious problem.Outside, in the street, the neighbours from the house opposite are dressed in medieval brocades, some make believe reenactment today celebrating the pomp of the twelfth century, now almost one thousand years ago. This house was not there then yet, and the streets were elsewhere.
The bialetti has burbled, and the coffee is made, delivered and will be drunk from its cups.
The three young girls in their outfits look great, yet they will have a hot day of it today under their long skirts smocks and jackets. Still, they love their costumes and they show themselves in them with the greatest of pride. They are off to a pageant somewhere.
Saturday weekend, the sound of large motorbikes fahrting about the place, big american machines with short exhausts and sound so virile it is childish. The pleasures of the highway, and back home for supper.
Car doors slam, motor starts, the family day outside has begun.
Must telephone to find out about the kitten today.
The bialetti has burbled, and the coffee is made, delivered and will be drunk from its cups.
The three young girls in their outfits look great, yet they will have a hot day of it today under their long skirts smocks and jackets. Still, they love their costumes and they show themselves in them with the greatest of pride. They are off to a pageant somewhere.
Saturday weekend, the sound of large motorbikes fahrting about the place, big american machines with short exhausts and sound so virile it is childish. The pleasures of the highway, and back home for supper.
Car doors slam, motor starts, the family day outside has begun.
Must telephone to find out about the kitten today.
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