14 th of December 2017
Put the waste paper beside the bin into the blue bin, a small chore, heaving the house at five thirty, so stay in the way, there is time yet. Take the sticky tape off the carton, collapse the cardboard base, and put it into the bin. The entrance hallway looks neater now. See that there is a bag of salt carelessly thrown down between the two bins, the blue one and the grey one. It is salt for the ice on the street, no, on the pedestrian way. It will he needed later the winter. The bag is heavy, some kilos. Pick it up, and put it to the other side of the passage, along with the shovels.
Hear the bells of saint Martins, loud enough, outside the door. Time to go, to the bus, to start the day's travels. Leave the house, open the wooden door to the filthy weather outside - there is rain, there is wind, venting around the corners at the old buildings. An unpleasant morning,
Chovendo, Ventando-
Walk through the town, bowed against the wind, braced against the wet.. The road, the cobbles, are all slippery.
Upon reaching the bus shelter, see that Dolores is just leaving, her lift has arrived, a small white Japanese car. She has a leopard shin-patterned headscarf on over her head, a scant protection against the rain. Listen to the hissing sound of the tyres in the wet, as early morning ears and trucks pass along the main road. The man with his white bog cotton' heir covered by the cowl of a rain jacket writes a gruff' gut en morgen". Board the bus, tell out the coins as change for the driver from the front compartment at the wallet. Sit down. Sit and dream.
At the railway station, the smoker with the pony tail and the rucksack has retired under the awning at the top of the stairs. The designated smoker's patch out on the square is too wet and windy today. Guten Magen! Inside, at the cafe, join the crowd waiting for coffee. The shaven-headed man has grown a long heard, he is making rolls, with battered fish in them, and butter, and leaves of salad. When he has finshed, he gives them to the thin man with the tight black curls in the hair of his head, and takes the proffered cash. The men says thank you, the one sounding stage the way he speaks it, with such a strong African accent.
In the waiting room, there is a large young marmalade-coloured cat sitting centrally on the floor. She is preening her claws, stretching her back, enjoying the damp warmth of the cafe.
Watch as it carefully licks the spaces between the fingers of its paws, polishing the claws.
Sip coffee. A man at a table fusses obout, opposite, careful arranging his bags around a table, fussily pushing and shoving at the chairs. Everything that he does, every move, seems to require a further small adjustment or two, The whole procedure takes time.
Three minutes later, the man starts to pack and to gather his lodges again, to pack away his cup.' But now, it is past six, time to go for the train. Out, followed by the cat, down the stairs, pass the policemen, up the stairs.
Later, thirty seconds, see the fussy man trot along the platform with a companion, both laden with useful bags and rucksacks, all organised. The train arrives, and now it is time to go again.
Put the waste paper beside the bin into the blue bin, a small chore, heaving the house at five thirty, so stay in the way, there is time yet. Take the sticky tape off the carton, collapse the cardboard base, and put it into the bin. The entrance hallway looks neater now. See that there is a bag of salt carelessly thrown down between the two bins, the blue one and the grey one. It is salt for the ice on the street, no, on the pedestrian way. It will he needed later the winter. The bag is heavy, some kilos. Pick it up, and put it to the other side of the passage, along with the shovels.
Hear the bells of saint Martins, loud enough, outside the door. Time to go, to the bus, to start the day's travels. Leave the house, open the wooden door to the filthy weather outside - there is rain, there is wind, venting around the corners at the old buildings. An unpleasant morning,
Chovendo, Ventando-
Walk through the town, bowed against the wind, braced against the wet.. The road, the cobbles, are all slippery.
Upon reaching the bus shelter, see that Dolores is just leaving, her lift has arrived, a small white Japanese car. She has a leopard shin-patterned headscarf on over her head, a scant protection against the rain. Listen to the hissing sound of the tyres in the wet, as early morning ears and trucks pass along the main road. The man with his white bog cotton' heir covered by the cowl of a rain jacket writes a gruff' gut en morgen". Board the bus, tell out the coins as change for the driver from the front compartment at the wallet. Sit down. Sit and dream.
At the railway station, the smoker with the pony tail and the rucksack has retired under the awning at the top of the stairs. The designated smoker's patch out on the square is too wet and windy today. Guten Magen! Inside, at the cafe, join the crowd waiting for coffee. The shaven-headed man has grown a long heard, he is making rolls, with battered fish in them, and butter, and leaves of salad. When he has finshed, he gives them to the thin man with the tight black curls in the hair of his head, and takes the proffered cash. The men says thank you, the one sounding stage the way he speaks it, with such a strong African accent.
In the waiting room, there is a large young marmalade-coloured cat sitting centrally on the floor. She is preening her claws, stretching her back, enjoying the damp warmth of the cafe.
Watch as it carefully licks the spaces between the fingers of its paws, polishing the claws.
Sip coffee. A man at a table fusses obout, opposite, careful arranging his bags around a table, fussily pushing and shoving at the chairs. Everything that he does, every move, seems to require a further small adjustment or two, The whole procedure takes time.
Three minutes later, the man starts to pack and to gather his lodges again, to pack away his cup.' But now, it is past six, time to go for the train. Out, followed by the cat, down the stairs, pass the policemen, up the stairs.
Later, thirty seconds, see the fussy man trot along the platform with a companion, both laden with useful bags and rucksacks, all organised. The train arrives, and now it is time to go again.
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