I am thinking of writing about my life as an amateur again. There is so much inspiration. I am my greatest artwork. That’s what I have been thinking while hiking in the middle of France with 34 degrees Celcius. Maybe I should write an entire novel around a cassière. A very friendly one. A very precise cassière with a faint smile. And maybe some tattoos, although I thought I was not so fond of tattoos. But since my own daughter has two little one I am somewhat milder. I need to check my mosses tonight. There was a downpour on the way from Clermont Ferrant to. Brioude, Above the road appeared a text: vehicules arretes / code orange. The water was wheel deep, as if we drove through a news item. Our son flew back home in time. We miss him, and the birds too.
This morning I saw a very old man throwing things on a huge piece of land. He was wearing a skyblue pair of trousers and a canaryyellow t-shirt. An hour later I bought a dirty, buttonless, faded, synthetic and minimalistic French schooljacket. I think he came by foot. And than he worked all this land, I imagine. Afterwards he needed to walk back home, or maybe his daughter, who is working as a cassière at one of those giant supermarkets at the edge of the nearby city. Who has been chosing his clothes? I would love to that, probably I would love to wear these items myself.
This morning I managed to sit in the lotus position with a straight back by grabbing my feet.
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