The grey light of the morning, no direct sun yet. It is just after six.
Get up, go to the loo, the place, le lieu. Go on afterwards into the kitchen. La cuisine. A cozinha.
The cat is attentive, it wants a feed, it wants attention. Butting the bony head against tired old legs, rising up on the hind legs, presenting the head for scratching.
Take the steps necessary to make a cup of coffee, clean the sieve, turn on the machine.
Get the cup and the laptop computer from the bedroom. Put the cup into the machine, press the switch.
Sit at the table, reading the news. There is the sound of work and male voices outside, look out of the window down into the alley. Two men in the orange working clothes of the street cleaners are walking along the street, clearing away rubbish, cigarette buts, checking that all is in order.Yesterday was the first day of the town fair, that is why the town has it's workers out cleaning the town today, a Sunday. It is the fair to celebrate Saint Bartholomew.
Read the news, there is not so much being reported.
The table is in disorder, the son has never learned to clear it up completely after the evening meal.
And the sun is now illuminating the roof of the house on the opposite side of the alley.
Get up, go to the loo, the place, le lieu. Go on afterwards into the kitchen. La cuisine. A cozinha.
The cat is attentive, it wants a feed, it wants attention. Butting the bony head against tired old legs, rising up on the hind legs, presenting the head for scratching.
Take the steps necessary to make a cup of coffee, clean the sieve, turn on the machine.
Get the cup and the laptop computer from the bedroom. Put the cup into the machine, press the switch.
Sit at the table, reading the news. There is the sound of work and male voices outside, look out of the window down into the alley. Two men in the orange working clothes of the street cleaners are walking along the street, clearing away rubbish, cigarette buts, checking that all is in order.Yesterday was the first day of the town fair, that is why the town has it's workers out cleaning the town today, a Sunday. It is the fair to celebrate Saint Bartholomew.
Read the news, there is not so much being reported.
The table is in disorder, the son has never learned to clear it up completely after the evening meal.
And the sun is now illuminating the roof of the house on the opposite side of the alley.
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