girl with the bleached hair steers the bus

9 September 2016

Alarm music, the small telephone sounds.

five.

Wash, shave, new underwear, fresh shirt.

Ready for the day

Five twenty-five.

Put some cream on the spotty nose, to stop it flowering again. And wait.

The little cat us attentive, it wants attention:

Martin's bells, sound twice, it is half past five.

Leave the house, the cat rushes down The stairs... first. There are newspapers in the mailbox, stacks of advertising merit, selling everything from pyjamas to pre packed steaks.

On the corner of the alley there is a pot plant lying on the ground, it's pot smashed. It is a large, ornamental plant, somebody probably removed' it in a fit of high spirits from the space before the bank and left the pot in the middle of the road. The next car passing may have hit it.

A stupid business..

Passing The Town gates, there is a strong smell of beer and there are open bottles of the stuff standing around abandoned.

Teachemamn passes on a bicycle. He is wearing dark shorts and dark shirt today. He puts his bicycle into the bicycle stand at the stop, and goes to the bus shelter. The fluffy haired bag cotton man is there as well, waiting.

The young bus driver, the girl with the bleached hair steers the bus into the space carefully, waiting for a dumpster to pass, making sure that she avoids overhanging Trees.

Board last, teachernan tango about the front of the bus, driver-chatting, ready to get out again after three stops. Why does he not cycle the whole way? It would be faster and cheaper.

The girl with the Indian looks, at the cafe. She work. steadily, no panic. The smoker outside, pig tailed, grinning.

good Morning, good Morning, Guten Morgen.

Out to the platform, yet again. In the distance, they are working on the tracks, using heavy machinery to move the chippings that make up the rail bed.

And later, having passed Mors Burg, the train arrives in Frising, in the lightening grey of a steadily growing dawn.