29th of December, 2015
check the clock, it is three fifty four. If this is sleep, it is awful Unrest fat doze, a sad imitation of relaxation. The nose is blocked takes half an hour to clear. Then breathing works again.One long hour, and it is time to get up and go.
Wash and shower,the warm water drives away the tiredness. For a while, on the return the cat is there, excited, it seems to want head scratching. The little animal fusses about, it is happy that the night is over too. Gather up the jacket, and the Barbour coat, waxen smell of waterproofing; and it is to early yet for leaving.
Wait, sitting in an old office chair in front of the old school clock. A three quarter second precision pendulum electrically wound wall clock in an oaken case.The cat leaves the room via its own little cat flap, out into the cold attane balcony, to its cat tray, that is the way.Upon leaving the house the nostrils are assailed by an unpleasant smell, the stale tobacco smell emanating from the man who passed just before the door was opened He staggers on up the alley, may be on his way home early on a Tuesday morning.The discount baker is cleaning up his shop ready for the days days business, and an orange-attired bin man is going about his bin business keep the town clean.
Bus comes, different driver, and no radio. No seventies pop to make people wish that they had stayed in bed. Just a few passengers on their way early in this time between Christmas and new year. The Indian qentleman at the cafes, he does his job, but never a smile, perhaps he does not like his customers, may be he is not an early riser. He takes money and gives freshly made coffee in return.
And after leaving the deserted cafe, deserted due to the temporal interstice already mentioned, walk down the dank fluourescent tube lit undertrack railway passages, and on to the train which has come to rest far down the platform.
In a sudden mind change, wait. Wait for the second half of the train to arrive, and board it as it arrives fresh out of Passau
check the clock, it is three fifty four. If this is sleep, it is awful Unrest fat doze, a sad imitation of relaxation. The nose is blocked takes half an hour to clear. Then breathing works again.One long hour, and it is time to get up and go.
Wash and shower,the warm water drives away the tiredness. For a while, on the return the cat is there, excited, it seems to want head scratching. The little animal fusses about, it is happy that the night is over too. Gather up the jacket, and the Barbour coat, waxen smell of waterproofing; and it is to early yet for leaving.
Wait, sitting in an old office chair in front of the old school clock. A three quarter second precision pendulum electrically wound wall clock in an oaken case.The cat leaves the room via its own little cat flap, out into the cold attane balcony, to its cat tray, that is the way.Upon leaving the house the nostrils are assailed by an unpleasant smell, the stale tobacco smell emanating from the man who passed just before the door was opened He staggers on up the alley, may be on his way home early on a Tuesday morning.The discount baker is cleaning up his shop ready for the days days business, and an orange-attired bin man is going about his bin business keep the town clean.
Bus comes, different driver, and no radio. No seventies pop to make people wish that they had stayed in bed. Just a few passengers on their way early in this time between Christmas and new year. The Indian qentleman at the cafes, he does his job, but never a smile, perhaps he does not like his customers, may be he is not an early riser. He takes money and gives freshly made coffee in return.
And after leaving the deserted cafe, deserted due to the temporal interstice already mentioned, walk down the dank fluourescent tube lit undertrack railway passages, and on to the train which has come to rest far down the platform.
In a sudden mind change, wait. Wait for the second half of the train to arrive, and board it as it arrives fresh out of Passau
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