all hell

 One day like the next at the cusp between waking and sleeping. The cold was biting yesterday, today it is not so cold. Wander between bathroom bedroom and kitchen and then bedroom and then breakfast, and then read the news and take the pills as the doctor ordered.

At least there are no pills for the psyche any more.

Visit the photographer in his gallery. There are still the pictures of the concentration camp, work that is strange, work that is hard to understand. 

Today is the date of the execution of the Scholl siblings in Munich. It is near ninety years ago now. The horror of it remains.

Then there is the time afterwards in the steak restaurant, a time spent with a single cup of coffee.

In the afternoon there is that job to be done, the pictures of a big band, a group of good looking people all dressed in black. There is money to be had for the work, but it is sorely earned. The lighting conditions in the hall are not so great.

But there is a bottle of beer to be had afterwards.

In the evening, at home, start to work the pictures. Then go out, take a walk through town. End up enjoying a large cup of coffee served by an unfriendly water. He only cheers up when he receives a generous tip. That is not the way things should be.

At home again, lie down and sleep for a short while, and then return to the work tidying up all the pictures taken during the day.

It is a pleasant thought to go out to the pub, but what for? It is Saturday night, and all hell will be loose there.