to write these notes runs dry

Tran 25.2017
At five, wake up in the morning ready for work. In the night, the young son was ill, something that he ate. Finished the cleaning up after him, the food was too fatty, or else he he has a bug. The wife tells me this, she still half asleep. They will need to go to the doctor.
Shower, gather the clothing for the day It is a tiny bit less chilly outside, the streets are damp. There is so much salt on them that the water could not freeze at all. A cyclist, man with crutches. The cyclist speeds on, on his frame at tubes and wire, and the man with the crutches proceeds slowly, supporting his weight with his arms and his tubular steel supports.

Walk down to the bus stop. See the man who looks like a teacher walk ahead. He makes a detour, thirty metres, to read the dials on a weather station set up between the town walls and the river. Say good morning to Dolores. She is sitting there, warmly dressed up as always, wearing her sad serious expression.

The bus arrives, pay the driver. A quiet ride through the empt streets.

The cafe, the usual activity. The girl with the big eyes is serving. her customers, as every day.
Shaven headed man joins the girl serving, leaving his work preparing salami rolls unattended. A large coffee, a minutes wait, take the coffee, good morning to the Mr. Hedgehog at his table under the television.

The coffee tastes strange. It is because of that antiseptic mouthwash that the doctor had prescribed.
And in the train, the ink cartridge of the pen used to write these notes runs dry.