Saturday alone

There is the car, filthy and black. It is covered in grey dried salt, it's normal sleek blackness is gone. Press the button on the key, the lights flash, even they are covered in salt.

They put salt on the roads to prevent them from freezing over, it covers the cars and causes their metal to rust.

Place the little green document, the registration certificate, into it's place in the car. See that the area before the drivers seat and around the pedals is covered in pebbles from the parking place at work. They had stuck to the shoes and probably scraped off on the pedals.

Leave the little car, that errand done.

Walk through the town, taking all the back ways, to the supermarket under the shopping centre. 

Once there in the bright aisles filled with packed food, find the bread dispenser. Press the button twice, get two baguettes of the German ready-bake variety. And in a parallel aisle, pick up a package of six bottles of water, and in the next aisle a single wedge of Brie cheese.

Take all the stuff down to the checkout, put the few items on the conveyor belt. Turn, look back, straight into a pair of brown eyes  surrounded by thick black hair and a regular charming face. Look down as the breath comes back, the woman had gone unnoticed, now suddenly a most beautiful face.

Hide the surprise, look away, let the checkout person tell the pricese of the goods into the till.

Pay. 

Put the items into the cloth bag with the four dirty shirts taken from home and bring the whole lot to the laundry around the corner, the place run by Syrians. Leave the four shirts there and pick up four others on hangers, in their plastic covers.

And turn to go back home