2 May 2017
dress for the day. It is five thirty in the morning, it is dark, and there is a sound of rain from the skylights. By the time the clothing is on, the cat petted, and the news read, the steps descended ah the house left, the rain has reduced to a drizlle, pavements are wet; reflecting the new brightening sky, the street lamps and the night lights from the shop windows. The door of the house opens and a cyclist pushes her bicycle out. Past the blue bins that are standing there. It is blue bin day, those bins for waste paper only. All the rubbish separated nicely.
Walk through the old town gateway, an arch in a tower, ahead of the Teachemman. He is wearing his cowboy hat again today, sensible, it is good against the rain. The rain which might start again.
Dolores is at the bus stop, wish her a good morning. The bus driver is a friendly man, give him his money and collect the ticket. At the back of the bus, there is a seat free, sit there, doze away one five minute journey that it takes to reach the railway station. A quick jump from the bus and hurry along the path between the glass shelters and the road, there is the smoker at the ash Tray, talking to another smoker about the rain. The necessity of it, in all it's wetness. Overheard in the hurry and in passing. Place the order in the cafe, get that coffee in a large cardboard cup. The quality at the coffee has deteriorated a lot, it is more bitter than it used to be:
Relax now at the small round table opposite to the man in the Blue overall. The television is dead today, has been
dead since they started the conversion of the cafe. Drink, and look at the small screen on the mobile 'phone. Politics, protectionism. dangerous people with dangerous ideas. American greatness and selfishness, turning what had been a productive relationship into a free for all.
The train is delayed, so wait on the platform.
Wait and wait.
dress for the day. It is five thirty in the morning, it is dark, and there is a sound of rain from the skylights. By the time the clothing is on, the cat petted, and the news read, the steps descended ah the house left, the rain has reduced to a drizlle, pavements are wet; reflecting the new brightening sky, the street lamps and the night lights from the shop windows. The door of the house opens and a cyclist pushes her bicycle out. Past the blue bins that are standing there. It is blue bin day, those bins for waste paper only. All the rubbish separated nicely.
Walk through the old town gateway, an arch in a tower, ahead of the Teachemman. He is wearing his cowboy hat again today, sensible, it is good against the rain. The rain which might start again.
Dolores is at the bus stop, wish her a good morning. The bus driver is a friendly man, give him his money and collect the ticket. At the back of the bus, there is a seat free, sit there, doze away one five minute journey that it takes to reach the railway station. A quick jump from the bus and hurry along the path between the glass shelters and the road, there is the smoker at the ash Tray, talking to another smoker about the rain. The necessity of it, in all it's wetness. Overheard in the hurry and in passing. Place the order in the cafe, get that coffee in a large cardboard cup. The quality at the coffee has deteriorated a lot, it is more bitter than it used to be:
Relax now at the small round table opposite to the man in the Blue overall. The television is dead today, has been
dead since they started the conversion of the cafe. Drink, and look at the small screen on the mobile 'phone. Politics, protectionism. dangerous people with dangerous ideas. American greatness and selfishness, turning what had been a productive relationship into a free for all.
The train is delayed, so wait on the platform.
Wait and wait.
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