sábado, 6 de junho de 2026

A recorder, a hose and a train station.

 I reached the station after midday
My clothes shredded from navigating brambles
I had the homeless body odor
Though I walked across the pavement shameless

Into the station's paved open market
With mostly closed stalls
The elderly sat waiting for friends
Waiting for dusk

I was listening to my recorder
It told me where to go and what train to wait for
I put it up on the ledge of a closed store
Walking around and listening to its echo

The station suddenly filled up with families
I suddenly felt the need to get back to my recorder
I could feel it coming to its end
I approached the ledge where I had left it

It wasn't there anymore
A mother and her son were standing where it was
I asked them if they would hand it over
The mother feigned offence

Her son who was playing with a water hose, aimed it at me.
I ran and avoided the airborn flow of water
The mother didn't dissuade her son just followed
I couldn't look back to see if she was wearing a grin
 

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