loop

5 July 2017

In the morning, things are still in order, the days panic, problems, and desperation are not yet present. There are still the dreams of sleep, they still fading,

Wash, make the self presentable, decide not to shave. Leave the stubble, be ugly for a day. For a day more.

The keys are missing, they are not at their usual place on the knob of the mirrored door of the small cabinet in the hall.

Search, and find them on top of the high writing desk. give the cat a pat on the head. in passing by. The alley; deserted, There is the sound of the street cleaning machinery in the distance, and a young woman approaches on a bicycle.

Now, the tiredness that will take over the remainder of the day sets in..

Good morning, Dolores, sitting at the usual place at the bus stop. Watch a single pedestrian pigeon walk-about on the roe road, picking at the surface with its beak. It ignores all the cars, it does- not even attempt to fly away when they come dose. The bus approaches, the pigeon just walks out onto the road, allowing the bus into its parking lay at the bus stop. The bird does not seem to realise that it is of no importance to the bus driver what so ever, Bad brain. It thinks that the cars will avoid it, whereas all that they will do is disregard it.

At the station, there appears to have been a party in the night. There are bags of paper everywhere, wrappings for fast food,-yellow and blue. One of them is being carefully inspected by a

- brown pigeon.
- Say good morning to the smoker, standing there at the ash tray. A crooked smile, and a good morning in return.

At Moosburg, think of the sound of the crow in Landshut. The crow, cawing, raucous, jeering as the person walked down the shadowy alley, heading for the church, to pass the woman on her bicycle coming the other way.

Leaving Mood burg, a passenger has taken a seat opposite, reading papers,

- maybe lists, maybe typed inventories, each one signed bottom left.

Work will begin in an hour from now, the daily fight with others dreams

when the own dreams- os sonhos hers- are barely in control, they can barely he held apart from reality.
Barely circular, returning to where they came from