9pm and a little more. The sound and scent and images of rain. Headlights of a late bus reflecting on the wet street. Most of the day has vanished, the borough ist veiled in darkness and utterly quiet again tonight. Pondering the last three decades, the years that passed, accomplishments made, things left missing. More than just once feeling a tad helpless with all that remained unaddressed. We could be elsewhere, for better or for worse. Maybe remaining humble and greateful still is a good start, despite all odds.
8pm and slowing down. Ending todays journey. Feeling a wind in the trees, a moon far beyond the clouds, an unfinished evening bordering a night not yet completely here to start. Pouring some more wine, breathing the rivers air, letting the light pass on with the waves.
Irgendwo merklich später: Viel zu müde, um noch wach zu sein oder den Tag geordnet zu Ende zu bringen. Und trotzdem zu aufgekratzt und nervös, um Schlaf als wirkliche Option in Betracht zu ziehen. So bleibt es beim gedankenlosen Beobachten der Muster, die die Stadtlichter, die erhellten und erlöschenden Fenster in den Fassaden hinter den Höfen bilden. Vielleicht erzählt der Abend eine Geschichte, vielleicht spielen gerade Dramen und Komödien hinter dem stillen Glas. Aber vielleicht bleiben es für den Moment auch nur erleuchtete Flecke unter einem hohen, dunklen Himmel, zufällig, fern und ohne tieferen Sinn jenseits dessen, was der müde Geist darin sehen will.
Saturday and close to 10pm. Not sure where the evening went. Or the day, for that matter. Sounds of a distant fireworks, sounds of the city kids hanging out on the parking lot again. A scent of charcoal in the chilling air, and a giggle on the huge terrace above the houses. All feels amplified, distorted, weird seen and heard through the veil of early sleep. (Moving on, slowly, but unsure of which direction is heading for the morning the easy way.)
10pm and on. Again. Street and parking lot belong to a crowd of teenagers, dressed in black clothes, quiet as if not to be in focus of any attention of anyone in the neighbourhood. A bunch of bicycles gleaming in the beam of a huge cars headlights. That time of week again, for the tired and exhausted ones to find their way home, into deep dubious dreams bordering a dubious reality. That time of week for those to move on and out, to disappear into everything they've been working to, all the hours of all the days since early Monday morning. The same darkness encompassing all of them.
9pm and slowing down. Tired and loaded with new images and stories. Listening to old songs for a moment, as if to live through the moods it used to evoke, once again. Still wondering whether this will work out. Meanwhile, the city's stumbling into Sunday night. Loud voices keep on chatting and laughing below on the sidewalk. The bar is still opened, has inexpensive drinks and maybe ice cream to offer but no music today. Few stars, no clouds, an endless sky and a few early seeds to grow dreams of, before a new week starts.