Tuesday Noises in the morning, as every day. The dates i helping and
ticking, clicking and tocking. The cat, up and purring, ready
to greet the day. The wife gets up, and the cat is fed. Teeth brushed,
shoes found, clothing donned. It is all the same, but don' t you
see-routine is important. All these things impart structure to
the DAY.
On leaving the house see that the neighbours on all sides have put out their rubbish bins for collection. A moment s indecision, and then decide to leave it, the wife still has things to bring down, and the tin collection is usually late, unlike the yellow bag collection every fortnight. There is a small vehicle spreading salt on the streets to melt the remaining snow and ice. The weather is due to get warmer again anyway, all this activity seems unnecessary. A man in a garden tractor with a huge hopper frantically rushing around trying to cover all of the streets in salt, orange light flashing.
He gets paid for his job. That is all that makes sense.
Down the familiar streets, all covered in salty slush, glistening pavements, cold damp air. Shopkeepers on their way to work, looking into shop windows on the way. These people likely start work early, they have an early shift starting at six.There are two men at the bus stop, a teacher and some other. The teacher will only take the bus for about a kilometre,the other will go to the station. Leave the desolate streets and go to the cafe, there is big Blondy, her usual chatty self, trying to be a pert little girl.She can try all she likes, she has left that behind her. Time moves on. A large coffee, and stand at one of those"'bistro tables writing these notes. There are men in orange safety clothing opposite, street cleaners. They are talking shop to each.other. The young woman behind the counter is making up salmon sandwiches. It is the same girl as yesterday and she as slow and as thoughtful as she was yesterday. Listen to her talk to big Blandy, telling her to stay cool. She has an accent that sounds as if it might come from Ghana. She still has all her tiny plaits, and her left ear is pierced all the way around.she is wearing many small golden rings there.Downcast eyes alt the Time, making salmon sandwiches.Listening to her accent and appearance, a young German of Ghana's descent.
and the train, the one that will not wait, still resting at the end of the platform.Board the train, find a seat, arsk the one opposite whether the seat is free on not, and sit down.A cup of morning coffee, and a notebook. All the way to Freising.
On leaving the house see that the neighbours on all sides have put out their rubbish bins for collection. A moment s indecision, and then decide to leave it, the wife still has things to bring down, and the tin collection is usually late, unlike the yellow bag collection every fortnight. There is a small vehicle spreading salt on the streets to melt the remaining snow and ice. The weather is due to get warmer again anyway, all this activity seems unnecessary. A man in a garden tractor with a huge hopper frantically rushing around trying to cover all of the streets in salt, orange light flashing.
He gets paid for his job. That is all that makes sense.
Down the familiar streets, all covered in salty slush, glistening pavements, cold damp air. Shopkeepers on their way to work, looking into shop windows on the way. These people likely start work early, they have an early shift starting at six.There are two men at the bus stop, a teacher and some other. The teacher will only take the bus for about a kilometre,the other will go to the station. Leave the desolate streets and go to the cafe, there is big Blondy, her usual chatty self, trying to be a pert little girl.She can try all she likes, she has left that behind her. Time moves on. A large coffee, and stand at one of those"'bistro tables writing these notes. There are men in orange safety clothing opposite, street cleaners. They are talking shop to each.other. The young woman behind the counter is making up salmon sandwiches. It is the same girl as yesterday and she as slow and as thoughtful as she was yesterday. Listen to her talk to big Blandy, telling her to stay cool. She has an accent that sounds as if it might come from Ghana. She still has all her tiny plaits, and her left ear is pierced all the way around.she is wearing many small golden rings there.Downcast eyes alt the Time, making salmon sandwiches.Listening to her accent and appearance, a young German of Ghana's descent.
and the train, the one that will not wait, still resting at the end of the platform.Board the train, find a seat, arsk the one opposite whether the seat is free on not, and sit down.A cup of morning coffee, and a notebook. All the way to Freising.
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