4pm and on. Concrete, tar and yellow flowers in between. Everything merged into a vague colour gradient of countryside passing by. Stories of cities and motion, of inner sanctuaries and dusty outskirts and everything in between. Still trying to grasp the right soundtrack to this.
Morning. Moving with the clouds again. Always between dawn and dusk. // 📷 366skies
11am. Withdrawing from the bustling city. On the roof once again, with all the different means of transportation passing by in plain sight. Could stay a bit longer. Yet, too: Ready to go, somehow.
4pm, almost. Force-closed unfinished work by accidentially rebooting the local machine. Now, trying to pick some of the pieces and see how to at least roughly fit them together to remember vague structures. Luke-warm coffee, an empty bottle of water, and the usual indecisions with the sounds of afternoon slowly sneaking into the hallway.
4pm and on. Early off, slow motion, like the heavy trains heading south. Own safety zones reducing again and again, grumpy people in close vicinity. Too, a huge old cabrio standing on flat tires, cyclists making their way around shouting and cursing, sunlight feeling weak and cold. Afternoons, on a long day.