Wednesday, January
The sounds of the very early morning, the small beep of the alarm clock sounding in the day. Still, it is silenced swiftly.
Take off the night clothes and go into the bathroom, turn on the shower and wait for the water to warm.The orchid in the corner is still doing well.
Wash the hair, brush the teeth. There is no need to shave today,lack to the bedroom, fondle the preening and otherwise attention seeking cat, get fresh socks and underwear and dress for the day.The nose has started acting again, the cold weather has reddened it. Use some of that cream left over from the last time that happened., and take the little white pill with the small print on it.
The cat is at the door. She wants to leave the flat, to explore the early morning light, the predawn glow of the ruddy light from the sky that is the reflection of the street lighting.
At the door, remember that the mobile phone is still at its charging station, beside the decorative old typewriter in the sitting room. Return, detaeh it from its cord, and back down the stairs, out into the alley. Today is the waste paper collection day, blue waste bins in front of every house. The perfume shop at the corner is refurbishing, has building site fences all around it, and apologetic note notices begging to excuse this temporary discomfort.
On down to the Laendtor bus stop, there are four there people today, including Dolores.
The economy is improving, there are more jobs, and therefore more people are using the public transportation system. The new passengers are all workers, craftsmen of some kind. Their clothing bears witness to this, it is worn and practical, made to accept the dust and strain and stains of a days work.
The bus driver's ticket machine is broken today, he will aecept no money. He will drive for free.
At the station there are yet more early marning workers,some unsteady upon their feet, still asleep. Anastasia isthere, her name tag displays a different surname. Take coffee from the machine and pay her for it, there is so much work today. Big Blondy and the shaven man are there as well, and all appear to be treading upon each other's feet.
Both moustachio! and Hedgehog are at their usual place, tattling most earnestly. The year has begun now, after the short hiccough that was Christmas.now so thoroughly past.
The silent television is showing advertising films for body-building fitness machinery. Movies of all those people flexing their backs awake thoughts of torture, of the rack.
This is no sport for people with slipped discs.
The sounds of the very early morning, the small beep of the alarm clock sounding in the day. Still, it is silenced swiftly.
Take off the night clothes and go into the bathroom, turn on the shower and wait for the water to warm.The orchid in the corner is still doing well.
Wash the hair, brush the teeth. There is no need to shave today,lack to the bedroom, fondle the preening and otherwise attention seeking cat, get fresh socks and underwear and dress for the day.The nose has started acting again, the cold weather has reddened it. Use some of that cream left over from the last time that happened., and take the little white pill with the small print on it.
The cat is at the door. She wants to leave the flat, to explore the early morning light, the predawn glow of the ruddy light from the sky that is the reflection of the street lighting.
At the door, remember that the mobile phone is still at its charging station, beside the decorative old typewriter in the sitting room. Return, detaeh it from its cord, and back down the stairs, out into the alley. Today is the waste paper collection day, blue waste bins in front of every house. The perfume shop at the corner is refurbishing, has building site fences all around it, and apologetic note notices begging to excuse this temporary discomfort.
On down to the Laendtor bus stop, there are four there people today, including Dolores.
The economy is improving, there are more jobs, and therefore more people are using the public transportation system. The new passengers are all workers, craftsmen of some kind. Their clothing bears witness to this, it is worn and practical, made to accept the dust and strain and stains of a days work.
The bus driver's ticket machine is broken today, he will aecept no money. He will drive for free.
At the station there are yet more early marning workers,some unsteady upon their feet, still asleep. Anastasia isthere, her name tag displays a different surname. Take coffee from the machine and pay her for it, there is so much work today. Big Blondy and the shaven man are there as well, and all appear to be treading upon each other's feet.
Both moustachio! and Hedgehog are at their usual place, tattling most earnestly. The year has begun now, after the short hiccough that was Christmas.now so thoroughly past.
The silent television is showing advertising films for body-building fitness machinery. Movies of all those people flexing their backs awake thoughts of torture, of the rack.
This is no sport for people with slipped discs.
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