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Bare cold alley, up as far as the junction with the new town. Walk down the Newtown street, there is a group of young men talking and shouting to each other. It is just before half past five in the morning. They are early today. Further along on the left, the little bakery shop all lit up, the woman who works there setting her things up for the day. She once said that those who start early get more from the day. It is the bakery store that the son likes to go to.

Farther down the street the Friday food market is being set up. There are stalls, some are delivery trucks where the sides flap up to show the counter, others are based on trailers. Think that it would be nice to stay a while and to watch.

There is no time. Hurry on, There is the Regierungsplatz on the right. There are no people here anymore. Sax's painter shop has a display in the window showing small figures. The house is in a bautiful state of finish. A few generations of painters took care of that.

At the bend in the road where the old persons home is and opposite the church find the car where it had been left the day before yesterday.
Get in.
Find the keyhole for the ignition. It is dark. That is not particularly easy.
Turn the engine on

Drive.

Fifty five kilometres, tunnel, main road, motorway, main road, parking space.
Close on thirty five minutes. Faster than the train.

There is a book at the door, nicely wrapped up with a presentation band around it on the ground in front of the door.

A present.
That is nice.
Open it, see that it is a thank you for work appreciated.

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