sneaking in to platform six

the melody on the telephone

Fumbling at the buttons on the glass screen to turn it off. A quick shower, and brush the

teeth.

Two weeks break, and now back to the old routine.

The cat is curious, it maybe has forgotten the daily details

of two weeks ago.

trust and wait for the bells of saint martin's, there they are. Two bells, it is half past five.

The dark, and will remain so for the next six months, at this hour.

In the deserted streets the only things important now are-

in the streets are the shop signs, Lipp shoes standing out for some reason.

at the bus stop, the electronic announcement board

shows that the bus is only due in nine minutes. Check

the timetable attached to the bus stop, see that it is due in

at five forty two.

The bus driver, a young woman today with white hair. White in this light.

A small group is congregated around the ashtray and the pigtailed smoker in the station forecourt.

Some discussion, say hello and pass.

coffee at the cafe, an unkempt effusive man with

staring eyes and wild straggly long hair attempts to be over friendly to the waitress.

She is busy, and does not get involved in any discussion.

and in the cafe, there is nothing but the television,

silent, d e f e k t. Defective.

There is nothing but tiredness.

Wait for the train, in ten minutes it is there, sneaking in to platform six