Drizzle

Monday 26 November

The street outside the door is shiny wet, the

cobbles glisten in the lamplight. The back is stiff, the

legs are not warmed to motion yet. And it is

drizzling rain all the way, a drizzle of cold water

caught by the wind. Put up the hood of the

blue jacket under the brown jacket. Two

jackets, one a hoodie, the other one just brown,

with a corduroy collar.

There is Dolores at the bus stop, sitting in

the shelter. She says a sleepy "good Morning"

There is a car waiting with its lights on. The

headlight is insanely dazzling this morning, it is

unpleasant. After a few moments the car moves

on. The bus rounds the distant corner by the old

gaol, watch it approach, the articulated bus

with the bellows in the centre. The motion of

the rear part makes it move like a giant

centipede. A slight swaying around the corner, the

back end bobbing up and down relative to

the front.

At the railway station the damp cold

weather has pervaded the sweher to give up

his cigarette, he has just turned his back to the

rain and is climbing the granite stairs to

the warm, dry and bright station hall.

The bald man with the beard , working at his usual high speed, has the coffee ready before it is asked for.