two and a half hours early

It is five thirty, the grumbling sound of the few cars outside in the cobbled streets going about their early morning errands. There are squares of orange light on the wall of the sitting room, a projection of the the windows created by those sodium lamps in the alley. The cat is slowly awakening.

Sitting here, waiting for the day to beging. A doctors appointment, to deal with that silly apnea mask. There is no point . The cat has now moved to the window sill, and is observing the empty street outside.

things have ground to a halt again, just like the clock that will not work any more for no apparent reason.

A small engined scooter moves past outside, with its tiny engine revving hard, bringing its owner on soe errand.

All before six in the morning on this Wednesday.

It is so quiet,

how can the quiet and the invisible be described?

and why describe them.

The clocks tick louder than that hissing tinnitus, a sharp ticking noise, and the heavier sound every thirty seconds as the Brillie´ mother clock calls for her children long gone.

It will be nine in the morning before the doctor arrives at his practice.

Nearly one thousand two hundred days after this accounting started.