A walz or a tango, or some such

Wednesday, October 25, 2017
The shirt is now two days old, is it advisable to wear it for another day? Put the thing on anyway, the collar is still clean. Put the cream on the nose, swallow a yellow pill. The injury on the bridge of the nose is still bleeding, where the door of the small writing table fell on it on Sunday. There will be a small scar most likely. The yellow pill taken, leave the home. 

The first breath of fresh air tastes good, draw in air through the nose. A deep breath, then take to the road, walk, the streets are lamplit dark. At the main street, two cyclists, two directions. A white delivery truck reversing towards the new bakery at the corner, moving backwards, with blinking lights.

 Dolores acknowledges the good morning with a nod. she is sitting in the bus shelter, later, two minutes, the bog cotton man is there with his white hair. It is cropped now, it does not blow about as freely as it used to. And then the Teachermann  arrives, new clothes yet again.
He must have a large wardrobe.

On board the bus, look at the advertisment  for the dancing school stuck on the floor of the vehicle. Ther is a pattern with steps, footprints and arrows. A walz or a tango, or some such. No idea. Follow the arrows and he steps. Untill the bus arrives at the station.
The pigtailed smoker is out at his place by the ashtray stand in the middle of the railway station forecourt. He says good morning, say good morning in return.
as the bus had arrived a tiny bit early today the cafe is still empty, there is only one man at the counter ordering his coffee. Now there are two.

The card has been stamped, the coffee seved. Take a plastic lid from the counter, go to the waiting room and sit down.
Watch the bald headed man in the kitchen area use a large machine to squeeze butter on pretzels. One pretzel every five seconds.