monument

Leave the maroon red door of the house behind, the door that was most likely to have been made over a  cerntury ago. Follow the son down the alley, now in the first light of the day. He wishes to go to the café, the little bakery shop.

So be it.

He is very tall and thin for his age, he has very long red hair. That is his wish, it lets him feel good and look unusual. He walks ahead, rounds the corner from the church alley into the new market street. There is a large war memorial in the street, a pathetic monument which does not fit well into the street. It has recently been cleaned, it is now a mass of white stone, depicting figures growing out of a tree-like object.

A man is taking photos of it with a small camera. Many people do that. Maybe it is because the monument is so clean and white now. And there is the Landshut castle on the hill behind it. It is like a ready-made composite postcard. All you need to do is press the button.

The cafe is just a few yards down from the monument.

A cake and a cup of black coffee.

A piece of strawberry flan and a milky coffee.

The father, nearly sixty four.

The son, nearly fifteen.

Both sit in the bakery's window.

In the middle of the street, there is the monument.

on the othere side of the street -

an insurance broker,

a closed cheese shop,

a fruit shop,

and a shop for sports articles.

After the coffee, take a short walk down to the river.

Watch the ducks.

Today is a day off.