4pm, heading on. Halfway into communication. Moving fast, collecting tasks to appear left and right, trying to keep a clear sight on what's to be achieved. A little of blue sky, clouds hurrying elsewhere, early sunset and still not feeling like having accomplished a lot today. All familiar perceptions in everything. Wrestling imposter and imperfection.
9pm and on. Pondering shapes of stories and irregular characters and the weirdness in typesetting and the shadows cast by burnt-down candles. And weather. A dark person moving behind curtains on the other side of the road. A car alert going off for a few moments, silenced fast enough before being able to notice details. Ephemeral thoughts in the emptiness of late busses.
(Am Wegesrand: Weiches Laub unter den Sohlen und um die Schuhe. Kurz verharren. Auf der Terrasse des Abrisshauses feiern Nachbarn aus jenem Viertel, sitzen an einen rostigen Grill und trinken Bier aus Dosen. Baustellenbeschilderung, zerbrochene Fenster, Ausfallstraßen. Manche Städte haben spürbareres Grau als andere.)
(Somewhere along the way. Moving south and it gradually gets colder. Distance in everything, the feeling of being surrounded by unfamiliar places in undescribed territories. The sound of engines and tires. Moving on, stopping by then and now to let the soul catch up.)
4pm and on. Discomfort in miscommunication. Rolling back in an attempt to figure out where things got off track. Definitely not pleased at all, wondering which part of social skills it might take to fix what broke. Still: Apprentice in the art of wrapping difficult insights in appealing ways.