28th December 2016
Leave the house, much the same as every day. The nose is bleeding, the skin on the bridge was damaged by the breathing mask.
Leave the house, it is cold outside. There is a man coming. up the street, distributing newspapers door to door. There is a big orange dumpsters collecting, organic left-overs, from the restaurant at the corner. Blue bins.
A police car comes up the pedestrian zone, from the city gate by the river. It is being driven slowly, the occupants looking over the still sleeping town, making sure that all is in order.
Alone at the bus stop, watch the ears pass, each with its single occupant. They all rush around the corner, who knows exactly what they are doing; now between christmas and new year. The man is down at the wall again, calling to the birds. He has brought something for them to eat, but there are no birds there today. Maybe it is to cold, or maybe they are just not hungry.
The bus driver takes the money, the one Euro and ten cents, and given a ticket. Those three twenty cent coins and the fifty cent coin seem to confuse him, he is doing mental arithmetic. It seems to be a strange, or unusual combination of coins.
The station has a big delivery truck parked in front of the main entrance, there are two people pulling out stacks of boxes using pallet trucks. The man in the coffee shop sees his regular customer approaching and puts a paper cup into the machine, in readiness. Pay him his money, and let him stamp the small ticket. Another two days, and there will be a free cup of coffee. It is very quiet in the cafe today. The television is flickering badly, it is constantly losing its signal. Now and again, pictures of bullfighters and bulls are to be seen on the screen. Then car accidents. Bloody awful breakfast television.
The train is empty, comparitively speaking.
Leave the house, much the same as every day. The nose is bleeding, the skin on the bridge was damaged by the breathing mask.
Leave the house, it is cold outside. There is a man coming. up the street, distributing newspapers door to door. There is a big orange dumpsters collecting, organic left-overs, from the restaurant at the corner. Blue bins.
A police car comes up the pedestrian zone, from the city gate by the river. It is being driven slowly, the occupants looking over the still sleeping town, making sure that all is in order.
Alone at the bus stop, watch the ears pass, each with its single occupant. They all rush around the corner, who knows exactly what they are doing; now between christmas and new year. The man is down at the wall again, calling to the birds. He has brought something for them to eat, but there are no birds there today. Maybe it is to cold, or maybe they are just not hungry.
The bus driver takes the money, the one Euro and ten cents, and given a ticket. Those three twenty cent coins and the fifty cent coin seem to confuse him, he is doing mental arithmetic. It seems to be a strange, or unusual combination of coins.
The station has a big delivery truck parked in front of the main entrance, there are two people pulling out stacks of boxes using pallet trucks. The man in the coffee shop sees his regular customer approaching and puts a paper cup into the machine, in readiness. Pay him his money, and let him stamp the small ticket. Another two days, and there will be a free cup of coffee. It is very quiet in the cafe today. The television is flickering badly, it is constantly losing its signal. Now and again, pictures of bullfighters and bulls are to be seen on the screen. Then car accidents. Bloody awful breakfast television.
The train is empty, comparitively speaking.
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