And the hours leading towards sunset. A breeze in the branches. Hushing leaves. Neighbours arguing about politics near and far and the tension is keeping all the community in its grip. (A bottle opened. Cheering the fruits and grains of this season. And the hope in these. Despite.)
4pm and on. Catching oneself staring at clouds for too long, but at least not yet yelling at them. New people again, on the terrace across the street, gazing into city sunset and seemingly content with where they are. A parked heavy truck, engine running idle, an excavator carrying, throwing rocks and bricks, and subliminal conversations on network issues and faulty routes. An afternoon in an arcane mix, way too hot and way too loud.
Drinnen. Draußen. Ganz woanders. Unklar, ob die Hektik real oder nur antrainiert ist, das temporär Getriebene, das dauerhafte schuldige Gefühl allumfassender Unzulänglichkeit. Blickkontakte mit Fremden, ein paar Türen weiter sammelt sich ein Traube junger Pärchen um einen Makler mit Klemmbrett und Dreitagebart. Der Eckladen schließt seine Schaufenster, ein Moped biegt um die Kurve und knattert viel zu schnell flusswärts. Vorabend. Vorsommer. Und immer zwischen den Stunden.
4pm and on. Bridging gaps between mental worlds. But like balancing on a wire, a thin and rusty wire and things are windy that far above this abyss one hesitates to stare into. There are more comfortable places to be, more comfortable walks to take. But at least there's sun up here.
Closing in on 4pm. Office almost empty, most displays powered off but machines are waking up all of a sudden, fans spinning up, as do hard drives. (Surprised these machines actually do still have moving parts inside.) Across the backyard, two floors below, bored people are stuck in a boring meeting. Presenter invisible somewhere in the room, the last row folks checking their phones and losing track while gazing at a random void. That time of year again for sun to already hide behind the buildings. And of a wind strolling through yellow leaves.