Plaits

Tue, 2nd October, 2018

The hair, long, in hundreds of

tiny plaits hangs over the back at the raised front left-hand seat of the bus.

A black hand reaches back, the spread fingers going through the little, long, plaits, spreading

them, straightening them. The hair, even though it

is plaited, hangs half-way down the back of the seat.

At Hofanger Weg, Dolores gets up, and reaches for the bell push on the pole in the bus. The

young woman with the plaits gets up too,

she moves to follow Dolores, but then changes

her mind as the driver opens the front door of the bus. she turns, and goes out that way.

She walks away, up the street, she has a

quick, bouncy step. Dolores is slow, and

not in the least bouncy.

At the railway station, a small

cobblestone has been removed from

the footpath, and is just lying there,

like a tooth that has fallen out. Just

bigger, and there is no blood. It is a

small stone, about fist-sized.

In the cafe, the girl with the large face

and the dark-rimmed glasses. Her

greeting: "Grosse Kafee" "?"

say" yes please", in german, and hand

over the discount card for stamping, and

a five Euro note.

A low stool is free in the waiting

room. continue with the notes that had

been started on board the bus. The

comments on the hair, written despite

the vibrations and shaking of the bus.

The hair, long, in hundreds of tiny

plaits, hangs over the back at the front

seat. A circuitous thought. Maybe she

is a nurse, finishing night shift up

at the hospital.