branded

An hour lost in the night, in the early morning around three in the morning, a painless time for clocks to change, to move ahead for an hour, robbing the night of one hour and telling lies about the time to awaken on a Sunday morning.

The clocks were set at midnight, ahead of the official time, but that way sleep is undisturbed.
Morning comes, the son is up, see his face from the shelter of the bedclothes, His face comes close he looks.

Cafe?

A single word enquiry

And a feeling of dismay, knowing that getting up now is painful and, as a result, difficult, please please a few minutes more with the warm covers.


The few minutes have elapsed, the mewing cat wants a head scratch, get up and feel the feline fur on the bare legs as the cat rubs her back there-
pull the drawer from the wardrobe, fresh underwear
and socks.

tick tock from the clocks, the clocks an hour later than the body.

Go out into the deserted town with the son, to the cafe in the main street.
A large cocoa and a large coffee, a roll and a flat loaf of Turkish bread filled with tomato and Mozzarella cheese for the son.

And slowly, slowly the body recedes from the land of nod.

The landlord of the local engages in a conversation with an older man. The landlord is wearing the traditional Bavarian short leather trousers, he has a big beer belly and close cropped hair. On his feet the shoes by a modern sportswear company, three stripes on the side.
The calf of his right hand leg has the brand name of the brewery that he works for tattooed upon it.

Branded.