This is about sunday. And my laptop crashed. I am waiting for the fixer to open, I am way too early and am leaning against a wall in the sun. The laptop bag is heavy, I try not to take notice of this and I am posing leisurely while reading a book that popped out of my bike bag.
I am not that talented. In acting as if. This is another sunday and we drove to France. I didn’t fall asleep behind the steering wheel, so it's victory day. On a vide-de-grenier I bought a Levi’s corduroy trousers, far too big for one euro and I made a picture of a train station and of people waiting in line for a vintage ice cream. After that we drove further. This evening I am going to do my best not having to make a work. Except for his here. I thought about my mother on mother’s day. She did her best, you know, I was her mother too.
We were walking and heard the golden oriole singing. No one was there to hear. They never show themselves. In the next village
a cat was sitting very quietly in the middle of a zebrapath. A lot of traffic went through this village and even not that slow. But, now they did, stopped, people went out of the car to gently show the cat to the pedestrian side of the street. Left or right, I will never learn. On our way back home we drove through the same village and at the beginning their was this traffic sign triangle with three pussy cats on it. VICs.
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