The cave dweller awakes, there is light from the cave mouth on the stone wall, the walls are a rough stone, limestone. The caves were built to quarry the limestone, and were later used for all kinds of purposes.
Fall back to sleep, it is early yet.
Later on, the light is brighter, a sign that it is time to rise, even if shining is currently a difficult proposition. Go to the little speleological type of bathroom, walls set in stone. Brush the teeth with the electric toothbrush which is now loosing it's power, it must be looking forward to the charger in Landshut. As much as a dumb device can look forward at all.
The teeth brushed, the foreign body overlooked yesterday removed, go out and get dressed, fresh socks, all those nice fresh clothes.
Put on a different shirt.
Go out, outside the cave is bright and warm, the gravel crunches underfoot, it is just before nine in the morning. The owner of the caves is up, knock get invited in.
Wish a good morning
make coffee.
Then hear that things are not as well as they could be.
A recurring drama of dizziness, and a poor state of balance.
But there are messages to be done, bread and cigarettes to be bought.
So take the little black car down to the next town and buy the cigarettes in a bar called the Gerbe d'Or.
The expats call it the golden gerbil. That is there humour.
Go to the bakery, read the price from the cash register, the French are fast at their own language. Hand over the money.
The girl says that that is too generous, and laughs, and gives most of it back. A misunderstanding.
The restauraunt and coffee bar next door is called the Marescot, and take a coffe there, served by the man with the uncatchable eye.
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