(a very short essay about lasting in a nothern city)
It was written down somewhere that I’d moved in on the 13th of October.
As it turned out, it was the 14th. Which didn’t make any difference to me.
Still, that would’ve been a catchy announcement :
Thirteen years ago the 13th,
I dropped in this town.
But here we are,
Another year, another round,
Another « how did I get here ? » meditation.
The doors of my own remembrance open in a random way,
They cannot be forced on any special day.
I think I have to go to the agency.
I think I have to take a walk, eventually.
It always seems like a rainless afternoon.
Maybe grab a cup of coffee, write a few lines,
Shake yesterday off from my instant mind.
The barkeep’s put on a few Birthday party tracks,
Which is pretty bold, perhaps a bit vicious too.
After all, it’s not even tea time.
And he tells me something about a following sport event,
Looking very upset.
There will be tension in the evening,
Trouble on the queue list..
Or maybe none of that,
You never know what to expect.
Like I ever had a quiet night in here…
It’s monday’s twilight approaching,
Filled with the smell of the week-end’s muck.
And I really don’t feel like taking out the trash,
Don’t feel like the story can be summing up.
Thirteen years of controversial luck, I’d say.
Thirteen years of being stuck this way.
Well, It’s not like I really give a f*** today.