only at breakfast time
Still half asleep she strolls along the pavement looking for a bakery. There is no bread left in the cupboard but there is a couple of teaspoons of coffee in the fridge. When sleep hasn´t yet let go of her she follows instinctively her footsteps. She randomly focuses her sight on whatever has captured her attention: a dog; a bicycle; a word sprayed on the wall; a face. Sleep protects her and guides her through the very awake crowd.
I think he is coming later on round her place. They were supposed to have breakfast together that day, but he phoned her to say that he unfortunately had to meet up somebody else.
She placed the loaf of bread on the table, took a seat and cut two slices from it. She was already thinking of the cigarette she was going to celebrate her breakfast with, so she didn´t have that much of an appetite.
She started spreading the butter on the first slice of bread. She had a bite of it before she decided what else she could spread on it. She had a sip of coffee and I guess we can call that the beginning of her breakfast. She switched the radio on and the whole wide world was there on her kitchen table.
Just when she thought she had woken up, the last drag of her cigarette brought about her sleep again.
‘I need a shower’ – she thought.
She could decide afterwards what she is going to wear, but she always dresses in the bathroom. She ties her shoe laces up back in the kitchen and has a look out of the window. The street down below is still there.
Any other day she would have headed on to the street, but he is coming round in a couple of hours.
She takes longer than that to get back home. Once she is on the street she finds it difficult to stop or to undo her steps. Tiredness is normally the only key back home. So now she had to think what to do in the meantime. She will think about it with another cigarette…And another cup of coffee…
She is sitting on the floor in the hallway with her back against the sidewall.
Her cup of coffee is resting on her knee and her cigarette is sometimes between her fingers and sometimes on the ashtray.
Her hair is dry now. It would have taken less time if she had been on the streets. The coffee is cold. She forgot about the two last sips.
There is definitely something to do in her bedroom. She had a mountain of magazines in the corner under the window. She grabbed a pair of scissors and started cutting out pictures, sentences, eyes, noses, shoes, dogs, trees, dresses, croissants, anything interesting.
In between the pages she found old receipts and some notes she had written to her old flat mates. ‘I’ve taken your woolly gloves. I thought you wouldn’t need them. Thanx. See ya’ tonight. Please not cus cus again, ok?’ She still has those woolly gloves.
I wonder which are the forces that keep things by our side. And which are the ones that part them from us.
The door bell rings. She runs to the door and opens the main entrance with a buzz…
posted by torber at 6:13 AM
3 Comments:
Palabras mágicas escritas por una mente llena de luz y un alma repleta de cosas que contar..
Sigue así...que esperamos ávidos.
Which reminds me----
I stumbled down stairs , a hedonist prodigy , after 5 weeks up all night and stepped into the street.The swirling pavement swallowed me up to my knees , a nearby tree grabbed me firmly by the shoulder and pulled me free . A caressing branched gave me a blue note for a bowl of coffee .
Dazed, I continued on my way . Seated on a bench was a Scottish punk ; he offered me a green Berliner in the missing Grail . I
drank with pleasure and with blood-stained hands I returned the cup to his tartan form.Reaching the first corner,the traffic parted and I crossed the street. The people stared. My local bar was in sight, the first table was set with a steaming bowl of coffee and a fresh morning salad and a message which read "FOR ME". I pulled up a chair and began to enjoy the invitation . On lighting the first cigarette , the remains of the coffee and the table disappeared ; the people stared.
Time to go , float down stream.
The un sought pleasure of the warmth of the celestial sun fell on my back.A small cloud drifted by,leaving silver rain on the opposite pavement---
To be continued :
CLEET.
Continued.....
The local Mosque was close by;the gold lettering around the dome glistened in the sun.A breeze freshened the air and the minaret began to gently sway.The faithful were climbing the stairs. At this moment the aroma of orange blossoms began to fill the street and the faithful froze. A white stallion mounted by a war-like Saracen appeared in the entrance.
He charged down the stairs in my direction, his scimitar slicing the air above my head as he sped by. Pulling his mount to a sudden halt,its front legs flayling in the air, he stroked his black beard, narrowed his black eyes and stared me straight in the face.
Without a word, he stabbed his spurs into the sides of his white charger and flew away. Rising into the sky which was slowly turning pink. The faithful stared, then continued up the stairs ,left their shoes in the doorway and disappeared into the Mosque.
Without realising how far I had wandered , I was now in the town square.It was like any other day,
people going about their business,
window-shopping, chatting and occasionally waving to friends on the other side of the street.
The fountain was the focal point of the square and the coolest spot to be on a hot day.It had become
warmer since the breeze by the Mosque and people were beginng to rest on the benches close to the fountain.Jets of water played gently over the reclining statues which decorated the fountain, they seemed to smile in appreciation.
Without warning the water started to bubble fiercely and as time passed , it began to pour over the sides. THe jets of water rose higher and higher. The people cheered. The square was now filling with water and the cheering was changing to sounds of panic. With the sirens of quickly approaching fire-engines,the square quickly emptied of people.
Was the water turning red , or was it the reflections of the fire-engines now entering the square?
I didn´t wait to find out.
The adjoining streets were calm, cafes and bars were slowly filling with customers for their mid-day break. A bar with tables on the pavement, which I had not visited before, caught my eye. As I approached, a waiter who had been standing in the door, offered me a table. I sat down and looking up I was caught by his deep-set, black eyes. Stroking his black beard,
he asked me what I would like to order ..........
to be continued .
CLEET
Post a Comment
<< Home